#loose TV Guide

[fuckyeahmeikokaji]

Keiju Kobayashi (小林桂樹), Meiko Kaji (梶芽衣子) and I think that's Nishioka Tokuma (西岡徳馬) in Muta Criminal Case Files Vol. 7: Dangerous Play Of Lake Okuhamana Woman (牟田刑事官事件ファイル 奥浜名湖 女たちの危険なプレイ), 1987.

Scanned from a loose clipping.

[overtake]

content for a very small audience but i was experiencing major deja vu when daniel posted this

[sysig]

Your (truncated) Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: The Sims 2 - Clinical Trial

And Wednesday:

2:30 PM: Damned/Clinical Trial/Vargas/Wander Over Yonder

Friday:

2:30 PM: Minecraft - Damned

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[mw00nie]

you’ve been quiet all evening.

not your usual soft, thoughtful kind of quiet, either. this is heavy, sulking silence. a quiet born from hurt. you won’t look at him when he walks in, and you don’t meet him at the door like you usually do.

you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, your face barely illuminated by the glow of the tv you’re not even watching.

kento sees it immediately. the damage he’s done.

he exhales. his tie is loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned from a long day, and he doesn’t even take his shoes off before walking over to you. he drops to one knee in front of the couch, large hands finding your thighs, and you flinch.

just a little. but enough.

he closes his eyes and swears under his breath.

“sweetheart.” his voice is rough, regretful. “look at me.”

you don’t.

“i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

still, you won’t lift your gaze. he cups your jaw gently, guiding your face toward him.

“i came home and took it out on you. you did nothing wrong.”

you blink, lashes fluttering like you’re holding back something. maybe anger? maybe tears? either way, it twists in his chest like a dagger.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “you can punish me however you want. just don’t shut me out like this. i can’t take it.”

and then he leans in. softly. tentatively. kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying not to scare you away.

you don’t push him off.

but you don’t lean in either.

but when his lips brush against yours again, slower this time, his fingers stroking your thigh, he feels you sigh. quiet. resigned. wanting.

he deepens the kiss slowly. like he’s savoring every second. one hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, and the other slides up under your oversized shirt his shirt until his palm is resting just under your breast.

you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls back to look at you.

“let me make it up to you,” he says, voice low and rough. “let me show you how sorry I am.”

and when you whisper, “okay…” it comes out breathy, hesitant. he kisses you again, harder this time. less patient. more desperate.

he carries you to the bedroom, kissing your neck the whole way there, muttering apologies between each press of his lips.

once you’re on the bed, he strips you slow. reverent. like he’s trying to re-memorize your body, like he thinks he’s lost the right to touch it. he undresses himself only after you’re bare before him. flushed and shy but still watching him now, finally.

when he pushes your thighs open and settles between them, he just looks at you.

“you’re the softest thing I’ve ever known,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “i don’t deserve to be this close to you.”

his mouth trails down your tummy, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the inside of your thigh. you squirm when he kisses lower, and his large hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place.

he eats you out like it’s penance.

slow, slow drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. then again. then again. he flicks it, circles it, sucks gently until your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. he flattens his tongue and moans low against you when you whimper his name.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing his mind. “i could stay here all night.”

two fingers slide into you, thick and slow, curling just right until your back arches off the bed. he doesn’t stop when you come, if anything, he gets hungrier. stays there until your thighs tremble, until you're panting, oversensitive and breathless.

“turn around,” he says softly. then, catching your hesitation, adds: “please.”

you do. on your hands and knees now, cheek pressed to the pillow, thighs still shaky from how hard you came. He kneels behind you, one hand smoothing down your back, then gripping your hip as he lines himself up.

“gonna be good for me?” he murmurs, running his leaking tip through your slick folds.

you nod quickly. “yes. please…”

he pushes in slowly. inches at a time.

you both groan when he bottoms out. you’re so tight, warm, wet. he has to close his eyes and grip your hips to keep from losing it immediately.

“fuck,” he grits out. “you always feel like this after i’ve been an asshole to you?”

you whine, half flustered, half desperate. and he leans over you, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades.

“say I’m forgiven,” he rasps. “say it, and i’ll take care of you.”

“i forgive you,” you whisper.

he thrusts once. deep. controlled.

you choke on a moan.

“again.”

“i forgive you– ken– please–”

he sets a rhythm, deep and slow, dragging his dick against every sensitive part of you. one hand slides under your stomach, pressing down right where the bulge forms when he fucks you deep.

“you feel that?” he growls in your ear. “feel me right here?”

you nod helplessly, mouth open, drool slipping down your chin.

he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you upright, back to his chest, fucking up into you from beneath now. one hand snakes between your thighs to rub your clit while the other grabs your throat, tilting your head back so he can kiss your jaw.

“mine,” he breathes. “my sweet girl. i’m so fucking sorry.”

you clench tight around him, moaning his name again and again until your body tensed, shaking, and you come hard, thighs trembling, hips twitching.

he groans, burying himself deep one last time, spilling inside you with a low, broken curse.

afterward, he doesn't pull out. just keeps holding you close, lips brushing your shoulder, your temple, your hair.

“you’re everything to me,” he whispers. “even when I’m too stupid to act like it.”

you murmur something back, barely audible, and he shifts to kiss your cheek.

“what was that?”

“i said…” You glance at him, eyes soft. “you’re forgiven. but you’re making me sore.”

he chuckles low, pressing a kiss to your temple. “then i guess i’ll just have to rub your thighs and draw you a bath.”

you hum sleepily against his chest.

“…and maybe eat you out again before you fall asleep.”

you chuckled. and he smiles for real this time.

because nothing feels better than being let back in.

[oreo-creampies]

‘𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞?! 𝐧𝐧! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞!!!’

You’re so beautiful in your tiny clubbing dress. Satoru can’t keep his hands off you, doesn’t matter if his roommates are watching. They can join.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: ganagbang, four-some, triple/double penetration, anal, oral, sitting on satoru's face, mocking/teasing/degradation, squirting, face fucking, light pain kink, light choking, manhandling, size kink, they all have big cocks, cock drunk/mind break, cream pie, triple stuffing, double stuffing the same hole, hair pulling, daddy/mama/princess, begging, dacryphilia, overstimulation, light dumbifcation, spanking, aftercare fluff, praise, established relationship with satoru, pussy drunk!trio, cock drunk!reader, some recording

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟏𝟎 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬/ 𝟐.𝟖𝐤

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: more poly toji, gojo and get sharing reader?

Curling a thick, long finger into your squelching cunt, stroking your sweet spot. Squeezing Satoru’s large hand with your thighs. Grinding your hips, eager to cum, not caring you stumbled through the front door into the living room.

The game blaring from the tv pauses. Toji suggests, "Fuck her right on the coffee table and let us watch if you're gonna do that." Your cunt throbs from Satoru's breathy moans, his tongue soft on yours. Tugging on his snowy white hair, making him whine.

Gliding his finger out, whining at the loss. He breaks away, "Beg to fuck my girlfriend then I'll let you use her pretty mouth." He smears your slick on your bottom lip. You take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue, cleaning him off.

Unbuttoning Satoru's pants, slipping your hand in. Fondling his beautifully long, veiny cock through his underwear. Satoru's been wanting to fuck you so badly he's soaking through his underwear. He groans, bucking his hips.

"Or you can just watch n' jerk off. Either way, Sug and I filling my beautiful lil super soaker." He slips his finger out, roughly squeezing your neck, pulling you towards the living room. Causing you to stumble, your high heels clicking on the wooden floor.

Satoru turns you around and pushes you towards Suguru. Toji snaps, "Why the fuck should I?" Straddling Suguru's lap, he pulls your tight dress up, kissing you softly. Suguru's kiss is a bitter contrast to Satoru's sweeter one. It's softer, needier, tasting of cigarettes and whiskey.

Satoru sneers, "You broke my fuckin' nose once, beg like a bitch or suffer blue balls n' watch." Slapping both your cheeks, crying into Suguru's mouth. Satoru grabs your hips, sinking his fingers into the squishy crease of your hip.

Burying his face into your cunt, forcing you to sit on his handsome face. Fucking you with his tongue, stroking your sweet spot. Rocking your hips back, he slaps your ass and groans. You whine from his pleasurably stinging warning to keep still.

Fondling Suguru's thick hard pecs, tracing the lines of his hard abs. Suguru breaks away to add, "Your hand won't feel as good as her sloppy, soaking wet hot cunt." Holding your neck loosely, with you no longer straddling his lap, Suguru's free to make quick work of his sweats.

Freeing his heavy, thick cock. Suguru's cock is too big for you to fully wrap your fingers around. There is that sliver between your fingertips. He is an inch shorter than Satoru but at eight inches he isn't short either.

Suguru’s perfectly too big, intimidating, and mouthwatering. He has large balls, you're wanting to suck on and drain of cum. Fondling them, they're warm and heavy in your palm. Suguru guides your mouth to his cock.

You take Suguru's fat cockhead into your mouth with a groan. Sucking in your cheeks, sticking out your tongue. Getting off the puffy veins on the underside of his cock dragging along your tongue.

Your sensitive cunt clenching Satoru's tongue. He slips his tongue out slowly, gliding his finger in. Spitting on your asshole, smearing it in circles, then stuffing his spit in. "Your other holes clenching like she's beggin' to be played with." He glides his finger out, stuffing in his tongue. Curling it, fucking you with a steady, quick pace.

Toji's voice doesn't have the bite from before. There's a needy strain to it. "Fuck you..." He mumbles, "Please,” then speaks up, "Let me fuck your sexy girlfriend." You're drowning in your horniness. It's intoxicating how needy Toji's please was, replaying in your mind.

Suguru glides his cock out with a soft pop and you mock, "Please let me fuck your sexy girlfriend. Want me that bad you figured out some manners?" Suguru snickers, dipping your head down, gagging you with his fat cock.

Toji snaps, "Gonna fuck some into you." Satoru slips his tongue out, kissing your messy lips. Slapping your cunt to hear you cry. Suguru's thick cock muffles the sound.

Toji grabs your hip, lifting you off the ground with one hand. Lining his tip up with your cunt, gliding his fat tip in. He groans, watching you stretch, the soft ridge of his cock vanishing in you.

You didn't notice Satoru had left the room till he came back with a wet rag and lube. Cleaning his hands off, then grabs your hand, pouring lube on it. Wrapping your fingers around his cock, twisting your hand, guiding it along his length. Tossing the lube into the sofa.

Toji glides his cock out, his head tugging on your cunt. "Nnn fuck princess is too damn tight!" Roughly pulling you back to meet his harsh thrust. Toji fails at suppressing the tremble, his legs shaking. Momentarily overwhelmed by your sloppy tight cunt squeezing his thick cock.

Satoru croons, "Heh you're making Toji tremble with your lil super soaker." Suguru stops, your nose touching his navel. He stands up with you gagging on him, tearing up.

Suguru piles on, "It's too much for him and he's only given you the tip." Toji rocks. his hips forward, his balls slapping your clit. His head brushing your cervix, he's so deep! Clenching him, savoring the soft feeling of his skin on his rock-hard cock.

Toji groans, “Shutt nnn up!” Getting off on the puffy veins, and the shape heavy of his head. Curling your toes, each rough stroke rubbing your sweet spot. Your cunt spasming around him, fuck his so mind numbly big splitting you open.

Bouncing you between Suguru's and his large, muscular bodies. Letting Suguru go to reach back Toji grabs your wrist. Suguru keeps his hips still, letting Toji stuff you, gagging you with Suguru's cock.

You're a beautiful whore Toji had begged for the chance to fuck. After months of him pressing you up against counters, grabbing your waist in passing, and standing too close. Always shirtless putting his fat pecs in your face like an attention needy slut.

Suguru glides his cock out of your mouth. Toji tugs on your arm, arching your back, pushing your tits forward. Keeping you bent in two for him to ruthlessly fuck your cunt loose. Catching your breathe whimpering, “Nnng daddddy!” Meeting Satoru’s beautiful ocean blue eyes.

He drops your hand fisting his cock, Toji pulls your back to his chest. Letting your wrist go in favor of lifting your leg giving Satoru a better view of his girlfriend’s cunt taking his thicker cock.

Satoru groans “Fuck her lips so damn good with a cock between up, love seeing that little tug. Her cunt so tight she doesn't want to let you go.” Satoru pumping his hand along his long, veiny pale cock faster. Swiping his thumb over his head with each stroke, smearing his pre-cream.

Suguru takes his time, his cock drooping underneath it’s heavy weight when he reaches his base. Thick white pre cum drips from his tip when he slides his hand back up. He let's it trickle down his head before he swirls his thumb on his head. Making a show of touching his cock off rather than getting off.

Suguru groans, “Her cunt’s so fucking fat, look at that sweet pudgy sloppy cunt. Fuck her harder, her fat tight cunt can take it.” Sitting down on the sofa. His words, Toji’s cock, Satoru’s groans and the slick sound of his hand stroking his cock getting you off.

Satoru urges Toji on, “Try and break her fucking cunt, she’s a good well trained whore. She’s take all there of us won't you?” Toji reaches around, stroking your clit. Your eyes roll back, jaw drops and your cunt clenches.

A blissful mind-numbing, pleasurable high overcomes you when you cum. Your whole body tingling, your cunt getting sloppier, squelching louder. Thick cum trickles down your thigh. There is no drop in the building peak.

Trembling, trying to get away despite how you're suspended in the air by Toji's hands. Toji's thick cock stuffed too deep for you to glide out. The intense high is bordering on painful.

Satoru smirks, "Lookin' scared, his cock too much for you?" Tears slip down your cheeks, crying. "You're makin' our beautiful slut cry." He moans, "Awwww poor baby." He grabs your jaw, spitting in your mouth when you moan.

"You're a greedy whore getting off on being getting used, passed around like a pretty toy. Say it." Satoru steps aside when Suguru claims,

"Wait lemme record our cum dump confessing what a slut she is." Toji pulls out a little too much, and when he thrusts up. You jolt, your body tensing, and a painful pleasure rips through the intense bliss.

Suguru fixes his phone on you when you cry "Wrong hole! Nnng!" Toji groans, pushing your hips down, making you take his cock in your tight ass. Sliding his fingers down your slit, stuffing your gapping cunt.

Tears trickle down your cheeks. "Please, your cock is too big! too much! Nn my asss inn feels too! nnn!" You can't think straight, each stroke is better than the last. The pain fades to a strange yet familiar intense pleasure.

Satoru croons, "Too big, too much? Your sweet jiggly ass, tell us how it feels after confessing what a whore you are." He stretches out on the sofa, "Bring her here." Holding his cock up. Toji walks over, giving your ass a chance to get used to his thickness.

Gliding Satoru's cock into your cunt. He too long not to stroke your cervix, something once so intimidating has now become an addiction. Your cunt has come to crave big so full, to where you can feel him under your belly button because he's too long.

Satoru isn't thicker than Toji, but thick enough that the stretch has your eyes rolling back. The thin strip of skin between both holes stretches. Satoru's cock seems to overlap Toji's thicker head.

Toji's heavy girth helps Satoru rub your sweet spot with a heavy toe-curling pressure. "Shit he's makin' you tighter, smashing my cock inside you." Suguru tugs your head. up by your hair, recording your cock drunk expression.

Toji's and Satoru's spaces are uneven, but just as rough, and harsh. It's hard to find the words, but when you do you're pleading. "Imma cock hungry slut who likes cock that are too big for her holes. Wanna be stretched and filled fill of cum. Use my cunt and ass please let me suck on your balls and cock." Suguru lets go of your hair, clinging up his cock.

Satoru holds your head by your neck, "We should get a better camera so we can record us running a train on our beautiful glory holes while she tied up. Make her a sex toy for an afternoon, walk up fuck her when we want." Suguru muffles your needy groans with his cock.

Suguru suggests, "We can leave a toy in her so she stays wet and sensitive." Toji slaps both cheeks twice, spreading them apart, grabbing the lube off the sofa next to him. Pouring some lube onto you, watching his cock sink into your asshole stuffing lube in.

Groaning, picking up his pace, his cock twitching, veins getting puffier. Clenching both holes, in pure bliss with three fat cocks stretching every hole. Their large hands caressing and fondling your body. Satoru pinches your nipple, tugging and stroking it.

Suguru gently massages your other breast, stroking your nipple with a wet thumb. Toji glides his hands over your cheeks, squishing your hips, squeezing your thighs. Your cheeks clap back and your cunt squelches louder than their combined groans.

You're so wet, dripping down your thighs. Toji's balls are wet, smearing it with each hit. Moaning on Suguru's cock, getting off on how he's fucking your mouth. Your other holes clenching when he gags you.

He's getting this all on camera. Something about that added element is making this hotter. You'll need the video, so you can watch the merciless way they're fucking your soft, supple body.

Your cunt is going to be soaking from getting to see the size difference of your short statue between three large men.

Suguru glides his cock out, putting his phone close to your face. Crouching down, "Tell us how you're feeling." Looking in the camera with blurry vision. Moaning, bouncing back to meet their thrusts, Toji holds you still. His thick fingers sink into your hips' soft crease.

"Nnnn I'm so full, it feels so good. Please cum! Please! Nnn! Wanna feel you cum in me." Your words push Toji over the edge, his cock twitches, and his puffy veins pulse. Warm cum spurts in your ass.

Biting your lip, clenching both holes, trembling. Suguru stands up, and steps back getting on video of your cunt gushing on Satoru's cock from getting your ass fucked and filled by Toji.

Satoru moans, "Good fuckin' slut, that's it mama squirt for us." Suguru jerks his cock off slowly, not wanting to cum unless inside you. His heavy, thick veiny cock is beautiful. In the midst of squirting, you want more. You want to feel Suguru's cock with Satoru's.

You plead, "Both in me!" You can't make yourself clear, your mind is broken. Clear of any thought, there is only the addictive pleasurable feeling of getting fucked. Toji's cum is warm and thick in your ass, trailing after his cock when he pulls out.

Toji sighs, "Fuck her ass is so damn good around my cock, couldn't help but bust." Stalking off towards the bathroom, mumbling, "Gonna order pizza and charge you for a slice." Suguru sets his phone down and takes Toji's place behind you.

Satoru slows down for Suguru to line himself up, gliding his cock in next to Satoru's. Kissing your boyfriend, moaning into his mouth. He parts his lip and you slip your tongue past, he follows your hungry lead.

They match their pace and speed, fucking your soaking wet cunt roughly. Your cunt is too sensitive after squirting, gripping their cocks pressing them together. Their pace becomes uneven, rubbing each other and your squishy cunt.

Breaking the kiss, moaning "How? I just! Nnn!" Your cumming again too soon to believe it. Your cunt tingles with that familiar bliss that spreads outwards. Your toes curling, digging your nails into Satoru's hard pecs. Getting off on their cocks are stroking each other's inside you.

Satoru busts, going still Suguru keeps fucking into you from behind. Fucking Satoru's cum into you. Satoru whimpers, trembling underneath you his eyes rolling back. Sliding his hands down to your hip, squeezing you.

Suguru leans forward, pinning you between their muscular bodies, overstimulating both of you. "Please nnn! Please cum! Please! Daddy! please cum! please!" You're too sensitive, quivering beneath them, drool dripping down your chin.

Suguru turns your head for a sloppy kiss. Wrapping his hand around Satoru's neck, keeping, stroking his cock and your sloppy cunt. You reach back, tugging on Suguru's long dark hair.

He eases up on Satoru's neck, letting him moan. Suguru grunts, "Fuuuuck! Can't hold on!" His pace becomes sloppy. "You feel too good!" Breaking the kiss, looking you in the eyes when he cums in you. Suguru's expression of pure pussy drunk pleasure is beautiful.

Suguru slides out, kissing the back of your head. "I'll get him to add some sweets and drinks to the order." Satoru takes a moment with you resting on top of him, his cock softening.

You lazily trail kisses along his jawline. Satoru glides his hand up and down your back. Slowly standing up, you wrap your legs around his waist. Hooking your arm around his neck, laying your head on his shoulder.

Carrying you to his bathroom, "You did good for us mama, so good beautiful. I love ya so much." He slips his soften cock out, warm cum tricking down your thighs.

Satory sets you on your feet, your legs wobble. Forcing you to grab onto the edge, holding yourself up. He steadies you with a large hand on your hip.

You smile, "I love you too daddy." He grabs a fluffy rag, gets it wet, and crouches in front of you. Gently wiping your cunt, ass, and thighs clean. Leaving random soft kisses. Giving you that warm feeling in your chest of being loved and taken care of.

When he stands up, you cup his face causing him to lean in for a kiss. "I love how you spoil me." Gently kissing you, setting the rag aside, lifting you onto the counter. Standing between your legs, and stay there when he pulls away.

Grabbing your makeup wipe, he takes out one, softly cleaning your face. "Spoiling? Princess, I'm only looking after you how I'm supposed to. If you want me to spoil you how about a private couple's spa tomorrow?" Closing your eyes, he light swipes the whip over your eyes and cheeks. Kissing your nose.

"Please I want a massage." Throwing the wipe away, opening the tiny makeup fridge keeping all the masks cool. Pulling a rose-smelling mask from its packet, and carefully spreading it on your face.

"You'll get a massage, then a soak in the hot springs with me." He spreads golden eye patches beneath your eyes. Carefully gather your hair in a bonnet to keep it from getting ruined. "Want to get our nails done after?"

Oreo’s m.list

[sixeyesonathiel]

WHEREVER YOU WANT IT, BABY, I’M TAKING YOU THERE!

↳ being married to gojo satoru means never knowing peace. or underwear.

4.4k words of domestic filth inspired from that one tiktok audio

cw: light degradation, praise kink, mild dacryphilia, food play (whipped cream, batter), dry humping, mild exhibitionism, marking (hickeys, biting), mild overstimulation, explicit language, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : made a version with suguru for my bbg lyra here!

ON THE COUCH.ᐟ

you’re sunk into the couch, legs tucked under the plush throw you’ve had since forever, the one satoru swears smells like your shampoo. the TV’s glow bathes the living room in soft blues, your favorite show’s theme song chiming through the speakers.

you’re halfway through a bowl of popcorn, kernels scattered on your lap, determined to actually watch this episode without your husband derailing you. it’s your comfort rewatch, the one you’ve seen enough times to recite the lines, but it still hits every time. you’re mid-bite when you feel him—satoru, your personal chaos agent, already sprawled across your lap like a cat who’s never heard of personal space.

his head’s nestled against your stomach, white hair a mess from where he’s been nuzzling into you, and you can feel the warmth of his breath through your—his—t-shirt, the one you stole years ago and never gave back. it’s loose, slipping off one shoulder, and his fingers are already sneaking under the hem, tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“baby,” he whines, voice low and syrupy, lips brushing just under your ribs, “you’ve seen this episode a million times. i haven’t been in your mouth once today.”

you don’t look at him, eyes glued to the screen, though you’re barely processing the dialogue. “you said you wanted to cuddle,” you mutter, popping another kernel in your mouth, trying to sound unbothered. your heart’s already picking up, traitorously aware of how his touch sparks heat under your skin.

“i am cuddling,” he insists, shifting so his body presses closer, one muscled thigh sliding between your legs, nudging them apart. you can feel the denim of his jeans through your thin shorts, rough against your inner thighs, and the warmth pooling low in your belly betrays you.

“just, y’know, with benefits.” he adds, his lips curling into a grin you don’t need to see, and he nips at the soft skin above your waistband, making you jolt.

“satoru,” you warn, but it’s weak, half-hearted, and he knows it. his hand slips higher under your shirt, fingers grazing the underside of your breast, thumb brushing just shy of where you want it. you shift, trying to focus on the TV, but he’s relentless, mouthing at your stomach now, slow, wet kisses that leave your skin tingling. “i’m watching.”

“watch, then,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble against your hip. he tugs your shorts down an inch, just enough to expose the lacy edge of your panties, and his lips find the sensitive spot right above. “don’t miss the good part, sweetheart.” his tone’s teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a hunger that makes your breath hitch.

he pulls you forward, guiding you to straddle his thigh, the sudden pressure of his leg against your core making you gasp. your hands grip the couch cushions, popcorn bowl tipping precariously, but he steadies it with a chuckle. “careful, baby. don’t waste snacks.”

his hand’s between your legs now, fingers brushing over your panties, slow and deliberate, feeling how you’re already soaking through. “fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself, eyes glinting up at you, blue and predatory in the TV’S light. “you’re this wet and still pretending you care about your show?”

he presses harder, circling your clit through the fabric, and you bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan. the characters on screen are arguing, but it’s just noise now, drowned out by the thump of your pulse.

“shh,” he whispers, when a soft whimper escapes you, his free hand tugging the throw blanket over your lap. “can’t hear the dialogue.” he’s mocking you, smirking as he slips his fingers under your panties, grazing your slick folds.

you’re grinding against his thigh without meaning to, the friction of denim and his deliberate touches pushing you closer to the edge. every time you get too loud—a gasped “satoru”or a shaky moan—he leans up, kissing you sloppy to muffle the sound, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s claiming it.

“quiet, baby,” he teases, pulling back to nip your bottom lip. “you’re drownin’ out the plot.”

you’re a mess already, shorts bunched around your thighs, panties pushed to the side, and he’s barely touched you. the blanket’s slipping, and he grabs it, draping it over your shoulders with a grin.

“perfect,” he says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “you love this thing, don’t you? let’s put it to good use.” he shoves it against your mouth, pressing it there as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them deep. your muffled cry vibrates into the fabric, and he laughs, low and filthy. “fits, doesn’t it? you and your cozy shit.”

you’re trembling, thighs shaking as he works you, his thigh still pressed against you, encouraging the desperate roll of your hips. the TV’S forgotten, just a blur of colors and sounds, but he’s not done playing.

“eyes on the screen,” he orders, free hand gripping your chin to turn your head. “this is your favorite part, right? where they confess or whatever?” you can’t answer, too lost in the stretch of his fingers, the way he’s dragging you toward release. your moans are louder now, barely stifled by the blanket, and he pulls it away, tossing it aside. “fuck it,” he growls, “i wanna hear you.”

he’s bored of teasing, you can tell, because he’s moving fast now, yanking your shorts and panties down completely, leaving them tangled around one ankle.

“over the table,” he says, voice rough, and before you can process, he’s got you bent over the coffee table, popcorn bowl knocked to the floor, kernels crunching under his feet. your hands brace against the wood, cool against your flushed skin, and he’s behind you, jeans unzipped, pressing into you in one slow, deep thrust that makes you sob.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, hands gripping your hips so hard you’ll bruise. “you feel so good.” the table creaks with every snap of his hips, the tv still blaring behind you, your favorite character’s voice a mocking backdrop to the way he’s ruining you. he leans forward, chest against your back, and grabs your chin again, forcing you to look at the screen. “don’t tap out now,” he pants, thrusting harder, “this is your comfort episode, right?”

you’re crying now, tears of pleasure and overwhelm streaking your cheeks, your body shaking as he drives you toward the edge. every thrust is deliberate, hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and his voice is a constant stream of filth “love how you take me,” “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” “gonna make you come so hard you forget this stupid show.”

you’re incoherent, babbling his name, nails scratching at the table as your orgasm hits, a white-hot wave that leaves you trembling, clenching around him.

he’s not far behind, groaning your name as he spills inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last shudder from you. when he finally pulls out, you’re a wreck, collapsing against the table, panties still dangling off one ankle, tears smudging your mascara. he’s laughing, breathless, pulling you back onto the couch and into his lap, the throw blanket draped over you both like nothing happened.

“c’mere,” he murmurs, softer now, kissing your temple as he grabs the remote. he rewinds the episode, smirking as he feeds you a piece of popcorn and you’re too blissed out to do anything else but chew.

“guess we both got our favorites tonight,” he says, voice smug but warm, his arm tight around you. your legs are still shaking, and you nuzzle into his chest, the theme song starting again as you mumble something about hating him. he just laughs, kissing your hair, and you know you’re in for it all over again tomorrow.

IN THE BED.ᐟ

you’re drifting in that hazy space between sleep and waking, the kind where the world feels soft and warm, like you’re cocooned in a dream you don’t want to leave. the sheets are tangled around your legs, your tank top rucked up from tossing in the night, and you’re vaguely aware of the faint morning light slipping through the curtains.

but then you feel it—satoru’s weight shifting behind you, the mattress dipping as he presses closer, his bare chest warm against your back. his breath ghosts over your neck, slow and deliberate, and you know he’s been awake for a while, just waiting for you to stir.

his arm’s already slung over your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach, possessive but gentle, like he’s anchoring you to him. you feel him, hard and insistent, grinding lazily between your thighs, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to dull the heat. “mm,” he hums, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice thick with sleep and something hungrier.

“good morning, wife.” his words are soft, but there’s that edge to them, the one that makes your heart stutter even half-asleep.

you groan, burrowing your face into the pillow, the cool cotton a brief escape from his intensity. “satoru, it’s too early,” you mumble, voice muffled, though you’re already shifting back against him, instinctive, your body betraying your weak protest.

he only chuckles low, vibrating against your spine, and he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, slow and wet, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“never too early for you, angel,” he murmurs, his hand sliding under your tank top, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then higher, cupping your breast with a reverence that feels almost too sweet for him. his thumb grazes your nipple, teasing it to a peak, and you suck in a breath, eyes fluttering open despite yourself.

“been dreamin’ about you,” he says, kissing down your shoulder now, each press of his lips a deliberate worship. “couldn’t help myself.”

“you’re so creepy,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it, just a sleepy laugh as you turn your head to peek at him.

he’s already staring, blue eyes soft and molten in the dim light, his white hair a tousled halo against the pillow. he’s grinning, that lovesick, idiot grin that makes your chest ache, and you can’t help but reach back, fingers tangling in his hair. “watching me sleep again?”

“guilty,” he admits, not even pretending to be ashamed. he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can lean over you, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful. thank you for marryin’ me.” his voice cracks a little, like he means it too much, and you’re torn between rolling your eyes and melting completely.

“sappy idiot,” you whisper, but you’re smiling, pulling him closer until his lips find yours, soft and unhurried, all morning haze and warmth. t

he kiss deepens, his tongue slipping against yours, and you feel his hand slide lower, tugging your panties down just enough to press his fingers between your thighs. you gasp into his mouth, and he swallows it, murmuring, “shh, let me say good morning properly.”

it’s slow at first, all lazy touches and quiet gasps, his fingers circling your clit with a patience that’s rare for him. you’re still half-draped in sleep, your moans muffled against the pillow as he works you open, his lips trailing down your spine, leaving a constellation of hickeys where your neck meets your shoulder.

“mine,” he whispers, over and over, like a prayer, each word punctuated by a kiss, a nip, a mark that says you’re his. you’re soaking now, hips rocking against his hand, and he groans, low and needy, grinding harder against your thigh.

“satoru,” you breathe, voice shaky, and he hums, pleased, flipping you onto your back with a gentleness that makes your heart flip. you blink up at him, and he’s a vision—hair messy, eyes glowing with something too tender, too raw.

“wanna see your face, angel,” he says, grinning as he leans down, kissing your forehead, then your eyelids, then your lips again, like he can’t get enough. his fingers are still moving, slow and deliberate, and you’re trembling, legs spreading wider to give him more.

he pulls back just enough to tug your panties off completely, tossing them somewhere in the sheets, and you’re bare beneath him, tank top pushed up to expose your stomach. he kisses lower, lips grazing your navel, then the soft skin just above your core, his tongue tracing the outline of your ring finger where your wedding band glints in the light.

“fuck, i love this,” he murmurs, sucking gently on the digit, his eyes locked on yours. “love you.”

you’re a mess already, whining when he settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your slick folds. he doesn’t tease for once, just dives in, tongue lapping at you like he’s starving, and you cry out, hands fisting in his hair.

he’s relentless, sucking and licking until you’re bucking against his face, and he’s moaning like he’s the one getting off, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

“taste so good,” he pants, pulling back just to spit on you, watching it drip before diving back in, and you’re sobbing, the pleasure too much, too perfect.

when you’re close, he crawls back up, kissing you sloppy so you taste yourself on his tongue, and you feel him nudge against you, hard and leaking. “ready, baby?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, and you nod, breathless, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he slides in slow, inch by inch, and you both groan, the stretch so good it makes your toes curl. he’s deep, filling you completely, and he stills, just for a moment, letting you adjust, his lips brushing yours.

“love you,” he says again, thrusting slow and deep, his hand finding yours, fingers interlacing. your ring glints between your joined hands, and he kisses it, then you, his eyes never leaving yours. it’s intense, the kind of eye contact that strips you bare, and you’re both pathetic, gasping messes, your nails digging into his back as he moves. “you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice breaking, “my wife, my everything.”

you’re coming before you realize it, a slow, rolling wave that has you clinging to him, sobbing his name, and he’s right behind you, groaning into your neck as he spills inside, his thrusts stuttering. e

he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried deep, his weight grounding you as you both catch your breath.

he nuzzles into your hair, rubbing slow circles on your back, and murmurs, “five more minutes. need to be home a little longer.”

you hum, content, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. the sheets are a mess, your tank top’s somewhere around your collarbone, and you can feel him softening inside you, but neither of you moves. he’s drawing lazy patterns on your hip, whispering how much he loves being married to you, and you’re grinning, too in love to care about the morning chill or the fact that you’ll need to wash these sheets later.

“you’re such an idiot,” you mumble, kissing his chest, and he laughs, soft and warm, pulling you closer like he’ll never let go.

ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER.ᐟ

you’re in the zone, apron tied loosely around your waist, the kitchen alive with the hum of your favorite pop playlist—satoru’s insistence that it’s “our jam” still makes you laugh. flour dusts your hands, the air sweet with vanilla and sugar as you whisk pancake batter, the morning light streaming through the window.

you’re flipping a pancake, singing off-key to some cheesy chorus, when you feel him—satoru, your walking disaster, sneaking up behind you. his arms snake around your waist, firm chest pressing against your back, and his chin rests on your shoulder, breath hot against your neck.

“baby,” he purrs, voice low and playful, lips grazing your ear, “you’re too sexy in this apron. makes me wanna eat you instead.” his hands slide under the fabric, fingers teasing the hem of your shorts, and you feel him, already hard, grinding subtly against your ass.

you snort, not turning around, focusing on the skillet. “you ate an hour ago,” you say, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your spine. you flip the pancake, the sizzle masking the hitch in your breath as his fingers dip just under your waistband, tracing the skin there.

“not talkin’ about food,” he murmurs, licking a smear of batter off your cheek, slow and deliberate, his tongue warm and teasing.

you swat at him with the spatula, half-laughing, but it’s shaky, your body already betraying you. “satoru, i’m cooking!” you protest, but he’s undeterred, hands slipping lower, tugging your shorts down an inch to expose the lacy edge of your panties.

“and i’m starvin’,” he whines, dramatic as ever, but there’s a growl beneath it, hungry and raw. before you can argue, he’s lifting you onto the counter, effortless, like you weigh nothing. the mixing bowl wobbles, batter sloshing, and you grip his shoulders, flour-covered hands leaving white prints on his black t-shirt.

“satoru, the pancakes—” you start, but he’s already between your legs, spreading them with a nudge of his hips, his grin wicked.

“fuck the pancakes,” he says, grabbing the whipped cream can from the fridge, shaking it with a flourish. “gonna taste-test my favorite dessert.” he sprays a messy heart on your inner thigh, the cold cream making you gasp, and you laugh, shoving at his chest, but it turns into a moan as he leans down, licking it clean, his tongue slow and filthy, eyes locked on yours.

“satoru, you’re wasting it!” you scold, but your voice cracks, your hands tangling in his hair as he nips at the sensitive skin.

“waste?” he scoffs, pulling back to lick a stripe of batter off your finger, sucking it into his mouth with a low groan. “this is art.” he tugs your shorts and panties to the side, not even bothering to pull them off, and dives in, mouth hot and relentless against your core.

you cry out, head tipping back, the counter hard under you as you grip the edge, knocking over a measuring cup. flour scatters across the surface, and he’s moaning into you, like he’s the one getting off, his tongue circling your clit with a precision that makes your thighs shake.

“fuck, you taste better than anything,” he pants, pulling back just to spit on you, watching it drip before diving back in, his fingers joining now, two sliding inside you, curling deep. you’re a mess, gasping his name, your apron bunched around your waist, flour smudged on your thighs where his hands grip you.

he grabs the whipped cream again, spraying a dollop right above your clit, and licks it off with a filthy moan, the cold cream and his warm tongue a dizzying contrast that has you bucking against his face.

you’re close already, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, but he’s not done playing. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grabs a spoonful of batter from the bowl, smearing it across your collarbone. “messy girl,” he teases, leaning in to lick it off, his teeth grazing your skin.

you’re whining, desperate, pulling at his shirt, and he finally gives in, unzipping his jeans and pushing inside you in one swift thrust, the stretch making you sob. the spatula clatters to the floor, and you’re clutching his shoulders, nails digging in as he moves, fast and deep, the counter creaking under you.

“mm, let’s make every mornin’ cream-filled,” he groans, licking more batter off your neck, his thrusts relentless, knocking measuring spoons and a bag of sugar to the floor. you’re incoherent, babbling his name, your legs wrapped around his waist as he drives you higher.

“so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmurs, grabbing your hand, sucking the flour off your fingers as he fucks you, his other hand circling your clit until you’re screaming, the orgasm hitting hard, your body shaking, clenching around him.

he’s right behind you, groaning your name as he spills inside, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last shudder. the oven beeps, shrill and insistent, but neither of you cares, too caught up in the messy, blissful aftermath.

you’re panting, slumped against him, the counter sticky with flour, cream, and batter, your apron a crumpled mess. he’s laughing, breathless, kissing you sloppy, his hands still roaming like he can’t stop touching you.

“fair trade,” he says, eyeing the skillet where the pancakes are charred to a crisp. you smack his chest, breathless, muttering, “you’re cleaning this.” he just grins, licking a stray bit of whipped cream off your neck, and says, “worth it.” you’re both giggling, feeding each other burnt pancake scraps, flour still smudged on his cheek, and you know the kitchen’s a disaster, but your marriage is thriving, sticky and sweet as the mess you’ve made.

ON THE STAIRS.ᐟ

you’re halfway up the stairs, each step creaking under your furious pace, the crumpled receipt in your hand like a smoking gun. “satoru, three hundred dollars on towels?” you snap, whirling around to glare at him, your voice echoing in the narrow stairwell. “towels? we have lights! electricity! a mortgage to pay!”

he’s trailing behind, hands stuffed in his sweatpants pockets, looking infuriatingly unbothered. his white hair catches the dim glow of the hallway light, and that stupid, lopsided grin is already curling his lips.

“they’re plush, baby,” he says, shrugging like he didn’t just blow a small fortune. “like you. thought it’d be romantic.” his blue eyes glint, teasing, and you can tell he’s not taking this seriously, which only makes your blood boil more.

“romantic?” you hiss, gripping the banister so hard your knuckles whiten. “we could’ve bought a new couch! or, i don’t know, groceries for a month?” you wave the receipt in his face, and he has the audacity to lean forward, squinting at it like it’s a museum exhibit. “you’re impossible!”

he steps closer, one stair below you, towering over you despite the height difference. “c’mon, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping low, “you married a brat. you knew what you were gettin’ into.” his hand darts out, grabbing your ankle, and before you can react, he tugs you down a step, making you stumble into him.

“satoru!” you squeal, clutching his shoulders to keep from falling, the receipt fluttering to the floor.

“what?” he says, all mock innocence, but his hands are already sliding up your calves, rough and warm, stopping just under the hem of your shirt. “you’re cute when you’re mad.” he’s grinning now, full-on, and you want to smack him, but his chest is pressed against yours, and you can feel his heartbeat, steady and maddeningly calm.

“come here and spank me about it, then,” he murmurs, leaning in, lips brushing your jaw.

“you’re not gettin’ outta this,” you mutter, but your resolve’s crumbling, his breath hot against your skin as he kisses down your neck, slow and deliberate. your hands betray you, tangling in his hair, and he hums, pleased, nipping at your collarbone. “i’m serious, satoru—”

“so am i,” he growls, and suddenly he’s kissing you, hard and sloppy, backing you up against the railing until it digs into your spine. the stairwell’s narrow, the steps uneven under your feet, but he’s got you pinned, one hand hiking up your shirt, the other tugging your panties down just enough to bare you. “let’s see how mad you really are,” he says, pulling back to smirk, his fingers brushing between your thighs, finding you already wet. “oh, baby, really mad, huh?”

you groan, half in frustration, half in need, and he takes that as permission, lifting your leg to hook it over the next step up, the angle opening you to him. “satoru, we’re on the stairs,” you hiss, but it’s weak, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fumbles with his sweatpants, freeing himself. he’s hard, leaking, and when he presses against you, you both moan, the sound echoing in the tight space.

“fuck, you’re so perfect,” he groans, pushing in deep, one rough thrust that makes you cry out, your head tipping back against the wall.

the railing’s creaking, the stairs shifting under his weight, but he’s relentless, fast and feral, each snap of his hips driving you higher. “say you forgive me,” he growls, biting your neck, his teeth sharp enough to leave a mark. you’re sobbing, swearing at him—“you’re such an idiot”—but your body’s begging for more, hips rocking to meet his.

“never,” you gasp, but it’s a lie, and he knows it, laughing breathlessly as he sucks on your fingers, moaning around them like they’re candy.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he pants, his pace brutal, the sound of skin on skin loud enough to drown out your protests. you claw at his back, still muttering about the towels, but it’s incoherent now, lost in the haze of him filling you, stretching you, owning you.

when you come, it’s with a scream, your body shaking, clenching around him so tight he curses, his thrusts stuttering as he follows, spilling inside you with a groaned “fuck, baby.”

you’re trembling, barely holding onto the railing, and he’s not done, his fingers slipping between your legs again, circling your oversensitive clit. “still mad?” he murmurs, smirking, and you hiss, “yes,” but your voice breaks, your legs wobbling as he keeps teasing, pushing you toward another edge.

“liar,” he laughs, kissing you soft now, a contrast to the chaos of before. you’re a wreck, panties tangled around one ankle, shirt rucked up, and he’s still grinning, like he’s won the lottery.

you try to step up, legs shaky, but you stumble, and he catches you, scooping you up bridal-style. “told you the towela were worth it,” he says, carrying you toward the bedroom.

you smack his chest, muttering about the mess on the stairs, but he just kisses your forehead, tossing you onto the bed with a, “round two for the towel tax?”

you’re too spent to argue, pulling him down for more, the receipt forgotten on the stairwell floor, your marriage as chaotic and perfect as ever.

[comatosebunny09]

and they were roommates | sylus

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, mild language, mutual pining, romantic tension, innuendoes, smidge of angst, 1.3k of self-indulgence now playing: honey - raveena part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5

The weather app forecasted rain all week.

You never truly relied on the damn thing, seeing as how there was always a high chance its predictions wouldn’t come to fruition. It’d been hot as Hell’s gates the past few days, pasting your clothes to you like snakeskin.

Well, now, as the evening sky pelts down in grey torrents beyond the awning of your porch, you feel silly for doubting it this time around. 

You love the rain—the scent of wet earth it ushers in with it, the ambient sound it carries. How, as cliché as it might sound, it washes away everything, starting the world anew. A second chance. A cover.  

What's most ironic is the rain didn’t start until your roomie disappeared once more, swept away for a “business trip,” leaving you to fend for yourself where you’d grown accustomed to having him around again. 

A quiet little tick to your lips, you gaze skyward, beholding the darkened clouds from your seat. A crisp breeze kisses your cheeks, water drip-dropping down the gutter, the symphony of the rainfall chasing away the sounds typical of your neighborhood.

Clad in your work attire, you rise from your chair and push into your home. You opt for a warm shower to chase away the cold. Ease into something comfortable, lounging on the sofa with a drama you’ve practically memorized queued up on the TV screen. 

It isn’t long before the stress of your day trickles in, and your vision fades, scorched around the edges like a vignette. You settle onto your side, feet kicked up on the couch’s armrest, drawing your blanket further up your body. 

Guided by the rain, the muted dance of light from the screen, and the exhaustion of socializing, you lapse into a heavy spell of sleep. 

—

You’re lucid. Carefully treading the line of consciousness and dreams, when the jiggling of the front door’s locks pulls you to the surface. 

You sit up with a yawn, joints crackling as you stretch, muscles stiff from your nap. The door creaks open, and warmth leaks through you at the familiar mop of white in the threshold.

He’s massive in the open door, stepping inside, quiet, careful, as if he’s up to no good. As if the darkness carried him in, snowy strands beaded with rain and a thin film of it lining the neck of his coat. You watch him slip off his boots and sling his jacket on the rack before you make your presence known with another yawn.

Brilliant, red eyes snap to you. Their intensity tempers, as does the rest of his face, and the pressure in your living room shifts when he steps towards the couch.

“Still awake?” he prompts, the low roll of his voice contending with that of the thunder brushing the horizon. 

You nod, trying to appear unfazed by his presence. Like you aren’t secretly vibrating, grateful to have him back.

He tugs off his gloves with practiced ease, dropping them onto the table behind the sofa. His eyes crease with a quiet mirth behind the backrest, and he studies you as he drops a hand to your shoulder. Squeezes, sending pins and needles through your chest.

Crossing the living room to the hallway, he disappears up the stretch of stairs leading to the upper floor. You’re straining your ears for every lick of sound, every creak in the floorboards, the slamming of a drawer, before it falls quiet. 

You take up the remote from the coffee table, scrolling through things to occupy the time. Your roommate reemerges after a minute or two, clad in a loose-fitting tee with a towel slung over his shoulders. 

He falls onto the cushion beside you, exhaling, towelling off his hair. He’s closer than what’s typical, thigh brushing yours, and your throat thickens. 

An amalgamation of scents coils around you like a breath out—petrichor, the faint trails of his cologne, undernotes of iron and smoke. You’ve stopped breathing as the cords in his bicep flex in the outskirts of your vision when he ruffles his hair, gaze trained on the television screen, unfocused,

Wanting to dispel the weighted atmosphere, you clear the phlegm from your throat. Sit up a little rigid, toying with the drawstrings of your hoodie.

“So…rough day?”

His jaw tenses in your periphery. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lets the weight bear down. And for a moment, you think you’ve nicked skin. Agitated a nerve—he’s always hush-hush about what he does. The life of a real estate agent must be top secret. 

“It was…tedious,” he finally answers after murdering you with the suspense. 

The set of your shoulders uncoils. You exhale, feeling a little less like you pissed him off.

“That bad, huh?”

Fuck him for shifting like that. For getting a little more comfortable, draping an arm across the backrest, legs splaying open. The hairs littering the surface of your skin stand rigid, and again, you’ve forgotten what it means to breathe when he turns towards you, ingesting you with those cruelly beautiful eyes.

“I’ll spare you the details. I don’t lead an exciting life. Not like you do.”

You glower when he pokes your forehead. 

After chewing on your lip, you ask, “Well, you want me to distract you?”

A brow lifts with intrigue. Lips cant in one corner to match it. You roll your eyes, scoffing. You’d think by now you’d be better at catching your words before they leave your mouth.

“Is that an offer, sweetie?” 

“That’s not what I meant, you perv.”

The fight dies down inside you, and it’s like being struck by lightning when his gaze drops to your mouth. It lingers, scrutinizes, his pupils dilating before he takes you in once more. 

You’re mindlessly leaning closer as if gravity’s drawing you to him. Don’t realize you’re watching his lips, taking in their suppleness, wondering if they’re as soft as the flower petals they resemble, until his knuckle slips beneath your chin, tilting your head back.

His voice is scratchy, tempered low, and you feel it pulling in your stomach when he rasps, “You’re becoming more difficult to resist. Do you know that?”

You both stiffen as the air sparkles with something electric. 

He sifts through the drunken, confused haze of your stare, chewing on his lip as if he let something slip that he shouldn’t have. 

You work your mouth around a shaky, “What?” 

And there’s war in his eyes. A battle of self-control when his fingertips trace the slope of your jaw, drag along the swell of your cheek, brushing some hair from your face. He’s gentle as if he isn’t meant to touch. Careful like you’re glass and he’s a brute that could easily crush you in his fist.

With a resigned sigh, he draws back, lifting himself from the couch and from the dreamy film that had covered you, leaving you to blink at the space where he once resided, as your pulse thrums a battle cadence in your throat.

“Tea?” your roommate calls from the kitchen, the sound of cupboards shutting and porcelain dragging accompanying him.

You try not to let your disappointment show as you sit back. Try not to let your voice flicker, your hands fisted in your blanket, mouth open, mind utterly confused.

“Sure.”

You wonder what you might’ve done this time to scare him off. If it isn’t his phone ringing or another obligation keeping you apart, surely, it must be you. 

tags: @eialovescats, @animecrazy76, @souppooppie, @stxrrielle, @pemhpredo, @bluesidez, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @freeprincesslove, @raginginferno267, @dyeinsomniadontwake

[occasional-yan-stuff]

Yandere!Meta!Otome Love interest X GN!Isekai!reader

details: Isekai, angry yandere, reincarnation

warnings: man handling, nonconsensual kissing, threats of violence (not towards reader), possessive behaviors, obsessive behaviors, implied stalking, allusions to infidelity, death by old age

pt 2

You didn't feel it when you died. You were already so old. It was peaceful in your sleep. When you awoke you noticed so much had changed. Your skin was smooth and no longer loose. Your hair was soft once more and all the pains in your body were gone. The room wasn't one you recognized either. Well... it was familiar but you couldn't remember from where.

You approached the mirror and your eyes went wide when you realized. You hat turned into the protagonist from your favorite phone game! The very game you had spent so many hours in when you were stuck in your bed and could do nothing else but play games and watch TV. Your grandchildren always said that it was "cringe" for someone your age to play games like that but you didn't care. The boys were so pretty and charming.

Your favorite boy was one named Caspian. He was aloof and mysterious and his route was only playable when you had romanced all the other boys. The thing was, you didn't have to wait that long. You had played his route so many times you practically knew it by heart. You knew just the ways to act differently from the original route to make him curious about you. You knew everything to say to wiggle your way into his heart.

Kissing him in real life was so different from how the game had always described it. He tasted like black berries and moonlight. You never understood what the game meant when it described him like that but now... you did. And you understood how sweet and passionate he was. It was better than any man you had ever kissed in real life. He was better than any man you had ever loved in real life.

You got to redo all of your favorite scenes with him. When he saved you from wolves, when you cooked together, even some of the scenes you had originally had to pay money for. You knew what to say. You had payed for the knowledge in your past life. You lived through the whole route, just as you remembered it. Part of you had worried that when you finished the route it would all go black and you'd just be gone but... it didn't. You got to live on and experience everything beyond the story.

It was hard to know how to act at first since you didn't have the guide but eventually you just started expressing your real personality. Surprisingly, that didn't put him off. Being who you really were made you love him even more. You got married and moved in together. Each day he would come to wake you with a smile on his face that you hardly ever saw in the game.

"Good morning, beloved!" he would always say.

The two of you grew old together and eventually you died, just like the death you had had the first time. Still, although you two had a whole life together, you never truly did come to see him as anything more than a character.

When you woke up again you were back at the start of the game. Oooooh. So this is how it worked. You preceded to date and have a life with every single boy. Issac, a flirty bad boy, Terry, a golden retriever, Leo, the princely type (and the actual prince), and Gregory, the tsundere. Each one was an amazing experience but you noticed something odd... Caspian didn't act like he did in the game.

In the game, he would always avoid the MC and treated them like they werenent worth their time. Now, he was always catching you berween scenes, trying to strike up conversations in the hallway and listening to you silently in group scenes. He never payed any attention to the MC... what was different. Not only that, but every route you went through, he seemed more and more intent on interacting with you and getting to know you. By the end he was even flirting with you on occasion and sometimes, in payed scenes, you could swear you felt eyes on you through the window. This... wasn't supposed to happen.

Finally, you had been through all the routes. This life was going to be very exciting because you had a huge plan for this one. You were going to go against the script of the game, act as your self, and see what happened.

That's what you thought, anyway.

Shortly after waking up on day one, you heard a knock at the door. This definitely wasn't how the story went. Hesitantly and with much confusion you approached the door. It opened with a creak and there before you was Caspian. He was tall and dark and angry. Before you had time to say anything at all, he grabbed your face. Not hard enough to hurt terribly, but enough to press your inner cheeks up against your teeth.

"Good morning, beloved," He said through clenched teeth. You swallowed a lump in your throat.

"Have we ever met before?" your eyes darted around frantically as you tried your best to make your smile look clueless. Surely, he couldn't have remembered you. How could he? You had both died and none of the other characters had remembered.

"Don't play dumb with me," he snarled as he released your face, grabbed your arm, and pulled you up to his chest. Maybe it had something to do with you romancing him first? By not waiting to unlock him like you would in the actual game, something in the universe was rewritten, making him aware, like you.

"H-how did you-" you could hardly push a thought out.

He held you firmly by the waist before tossing you into a carriage. He locked the doors behind him after joining you.

"Do you have any idea what its like," he asked, crossing his arms as the carriage began to move, "To watch the person who pledged themself to you pledge themself to four other men?"

"Well, I didn't think yo-"

"You were supposed to love ME!" He was livid. You had never seen him this mad before. There was really no way to respond. He was leaning in so close to you now.

"Where are we going?" Was all you could bring yourself to ask.

"I'm taking you to our house," he said, "the house with all of our memories."

The tension was so thick. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything as he stared you down for the entire ride, occasionally taking a break to look you up and down. As angry as he was with you and the men who had taken you from him, he was also so very excited to have you again.

You pulled up outside of his mansion and he unlocked the doors. Your body was slung over Caspian's shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he carried you inside. He plunked you down in your usual spot on the couch. It was so familiar. Almost nostalgic.

"You are never leaving our house again," his voice was acidic, "if you try to then I'll have no choice but to make you regret it," a sadistic smirk appeared on his face, "and if I find out that you left me to go be with one of those men," his hand floated to the knife on his belt, "well, I'll just have to deal with him, won't I?"

Not a single word could be extracted from your lips. You were too full of fear. A creaking sound could be heard when he sat down on the couch next to you. You shuddered when he put his arm around your shoulder. He cupped your chin, more gently this time, using his thumb to part your lips.

"You'll always be mine," his smirking face was so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath on your face, "in this life or the next, you'll always be mine."

He pressed his lips against yours, hungry and demanding. He forced his tongue into your mouth. Despite your fear, he tasted like black berries and the harsh light of the moon.

[pankesitopank]

finger sucking with THE JEONG YUNHO PLEASE

that damn 21cm of hands

Mouthful

Jeong Yunho x Reader 

cw: finger-sucking, oral fixation, size kink, mild praise

wc: 1.7k (1.785~)

note: You don't know how HARD it was for me to write this. I deleted it and rewrote it like 800 times! I'm not really used to oral fixation, and since it's not something I consume and I don't read it either, maybe this ended up being crap. Well, I hope not and I hope you like it loooove

You’ve always known Yunho’s hands were big. graceful palm and fingers slicing through stage lights, the way a simple point could dominate an arena full of screaming fans. But living with the thought and living with the man are different beasts entirely—especially when he’s lounging barefoot on the sofa tonight, fresh from the shower, hair still damp and curling over his forehead, one arm draped along the backrest while those famously massive fingers drum an aimless rhythm against the cushion.

They’re bait, and you’re starving.

The movie you pretended to suggest slips into background noise while your gaze keeps darting to his hand. Yunho notices—he always does—and his mouth tilts in that unfair, dimple-slanted smile. “You’re not watching,” he murmurs, voice gone syrup-thick from post-practice exhaustion. He shifts, stretching long legs until his knees brush yours. “Something on your mind?”

Your throat goes dry. You’ve kissed those knuckles in passing, trailed your lips in teasing nips across his callused palms, but you’ve never fully indulged the urge simmering beneath your skin: to feel every length of him glide across your tongue, to taste how power translates into salt and heat. Tonight, that urge eclipses embarrassment.

“I keep thinking about your hands,” you confess—a whisper half-drowned by the TV. His eyebrows jump, surprised but pleased.

“These?” He lifts one, spreading fingers wide. The span makes your stomach flutter. Under the lamplight the veins stand out, blue under honey-tan skin, and tiny, dancer-earned scars cross his knuckles like silver constellations. “They’re yours,” he adds, suddenly soft. “Do whatever you want.”

Permission detonates in your chest. You crawl toward him, settling between his parted knees on the carpet. He draws a quick breath when your palms slide up his shins, but he doesn’t move. The only thing that shifts is the slow tightening of his gray sweatpants, a tent of interest forming as he watches you take his hand in both of yours like a priceless relic.

The pad of his thumb brushes your cheek first—familiar, tender. You tilt into it, kissing the whorl of fingerprint before letting your tongue flick out. Yunho’s breath stutters. His other arm drops to rest on the sofa cushion, fingers curling.

“Baby,” he warns, already hoarse. It’s not a protest; it’s a prayer. You part your lips wider and take that thumb in, sealing your mouth around it, sucking gentle, experimental. The taste is fresh soap and cedar shampoo, clean but unmistakably him. Your eyes flutter closed as you swirl your tongue, memorizing each ridge.

A shaky exhale leaves him. “Fuck.” He’s mesmerized, you realize, not just by the sensation but by the sight: your cheeks hollowed, lips stretched, the gleam of saliva coating flesh that can palm a basketball. When you glance up, the pupils blown dark behind his fringe make your core clench. He looks worshipful.

You release the thumb with a wet pop only to nip the side lightly. “More,” you whisper. You guide his hand, sliding your mouth to the index finger. This time you take it deeper, until the tip brushes your throat. Yunho’s hips twitch. He’s wide-eyed, chest rising in heavy pulls through the loose neck of his T-shirt.

“God, your mouth…” His voice fractures as you moan around him—a vibration he feels pulse up his arm and straight to his cock. He cups the back of your head, not pushing, just anchoring, as if afraid you’ll drift away. You hum at the tenderness.

Two fingers now. You angle them together and fit your lips over both, feeling the slight stretch. Your jaw protests but your arousal eclipses discomfort. Drool slips past your lower lip, stringing to your chin, and Yunho’s eyes track it hungrily. His free hand fists the sofa. “You look—so pretty—so fucking pretty like this,” he gasps.

You lash their undersides, licking from base to tip, then suck hard as you withdraw. His breath catches, like strings pulled taut. When you tug them free, your saliva glosses skin to a shine that the lamp turns into liquid gold. You kiss every joint, each knuckle, worshipful. Then you guide his middle finger to your tongue and flatten it, letting him watch you trace the length in broad, languid licks while making sacred eye contact.

Yunho’s self-control frays audibly—he makes a wounded sound and shifts, sweatpants now obscenely tented. “Baby, please,” he murmurs. You know that pitch: need edging on desperation. But you’re greedy; you want him trembling.

“Spread them,” you instruct softly. He obeys, fanning three fingers. You take them all at once, mouth straining, your tongue wedged between middle and ring. The stretch drags a moan out of you—part discomfort, mostly bliss. Yunho’s head falls back against the couch, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing violently. His hips roll, memory-muscle trained by hours of dance translating into a silent, involuntary grind against air.

Spit drips down your chin, splashing your chest. You pull back, breathing hard, to watch a thick string connect you to his middle finger. Yunho watches too, chest heaving. Wordlessly he lifts his hand and swipes that string across your bottom lip, thumb following to smear spit across your cheek, marking you. The gesture lights a fuse low in your belly.

“You like my fingers?” he rasps, cradling your jaw. You nod, dizzy with it. “Then lay back. Let me see how much.”

The command vibrates through your bones. You obey, scrambling to sit against the plush rug, knees bent, thighs parted. Yunho shifts off the sofa, kneeling between your legs in one fluid motion that makes you acutely aware of how wide his shoulders spread, how small you feel beneath him. His hand—those hands—skim your calves, pushing them wider. Heat flares where he touches.

He reaches for the waistband of your shorts. “Words, angel,” he reminds, always seeking consent even drunk on lust. The care in his voice spikes your pulse.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

Fabric peels away, baring you. The cooler air kisses your slick folds. Yunho’s nostrils flare at the sight; a soft groan escapes him. He palms your thighs, thumbs caressing inwards, but pauses when your hips jerk at his proximity. “Sensitive?”

“Always for you.” The confession is almost shy. He rewards it with a gentle kiss to your inner knee before dragging his mouth upward, planting a trail of lips that burns open-mouthed and wet. When he reaches the apex of your thigh he stops and replaces lips with index finger, teasing your slickness with feather strokes. Your back arches.

“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently. “Already dripping.” He holds his middle finger up, glistening, letting lamplight make the evidence glitter before your eyes. Then—slow, deliberate—he brings it to his own mouth and sucks. Your breath stutters violently. Yunho hums deep in his chest, tasting you. “Sweet.”

The sight nearly ends you. But he’s not done. He lowers that same finger to your entrance, pressing slow until the first knuckle vanishes. The stretch makes you gasp—he’s thick, longer than most men’s full fingers—and he watches your face like it’s sunlight. “Okay?”

“More,” you pant. He obliges, easing deeper until his palm kisses you, curling up to stroke that velvet spot inside. Your thighs quake. Yunho watches transfixed: the way your body clutches him, the way your mouth falls open in unguarded pleasure.

But curiosity sparks. He withdraws, slick with your arousal, and lifts two fingers—index and middle—toward your mouth. Instinct takes over; you open eagerly, letting him slide them past your lips. You taste yourself atop the faint salt of his skin. Yunho’s eyes darken as you suck, tongue swirling around the digits still glimmering with evidence of what he does to you.

He slips them free, wet and shining, then leans forward, replacing them right back inside you with a single fluid thrust. The penetration knocks a cry loose from your chest. The sound makes him tremble. “God—this mouth, this pussy—so greedy,” he growls.

He sets a rhythm: fingers pumping into your heat, then withdrawing to feed into your mouth, then plunging back into you wetter than before. The cycle builds a dizzy circuit of pleasure. You don’t know where you’re wetter—between your legs or on your tongue. Your moans melt into his name like a prayer.

Soon two fingers aren’t enough. Yunho’s gaze drifts to your entrance, watching the way you swallow them. “Think you can take three?” he whispers. The baritone scrape of his voice vibrates through your entire frame.

“Y-yes,” you gasp, and that desperation cracks something inside him. He slides three fingers in, scissoring slowly. The stretch burns deliciously, pushing walls that flutter around him. He groans at the sensation. “So tight,” he mutters, thumb circling your clit with feather pressure. Sparks detonate behind your eyes.

He works you open meticulously, rolling his wrist so the heel of his palm grinds your clit on every inward push. Pleasure mounts sharp and fast. You cling to his forearm, nails digging into muscle.

“Yunho—close—” you warn.

“Hold on for me,” he instructs, voice iron. “Need you to come with my fingers in your mouth first.” He withdraws, and your walls spasm around nothing—loss keen as hunger. But he’s already bringing those slick fingers to your lips. You suck them in automatically, tasting your arousal mingled with his skin. He growls, hips jerking at the sight.

“Such a filthy girl,” he praises, thumb stroking your cheek. “Taking yourself off my hand like it’s candy.” You whimper around him, suck harder, hollowing your cheeks until he curses.

When he pulls out, a strand of saliva clings between finger and tongue. He guides that trio back to your core, thrusting deep. The obscene wet sound echoes off the apartment walls. It pushes you over the edge. Orgasm crashes through you—white-hot, clenching, a furnace consuming nerve endings. Crying out, you convulse around his fingers, thighs locking around his wrist as if your body can’t stand losing him even in climax.

Yunho’s stare is molten. He doesn’t stop until tremors subside, then gently withdraws, your slick coating his hand. He lifts his soaked fingers and sucks them himself, eyes fluttering shut at the taste you left. The sight prolongs aftershocks shivering through you.

When he opens his eyes again, resolve burns. He rises, sweatpants tenting like a promise. “My turn,” he rasps, voice raw…

[fuckyeahmeikokaji]

Takao Ito (伊藤孝雄), Meiko Kaji (梶芽衣子) and Yoshiko Sakuma (佐久間良子) in the TV drama Mai No Ie (舞いの家), 1978.

Scanned from a loose clipping.

[smileysuh]

nerd

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Look up at me for a moment, gorgeous,” Wonwoo commands, and you do as you’re told. He meets your gaze, his skin flushed from your mouth suctioning on his cock. “Just need to get your eyes right for your character,” he explains, threading his fingers through your hair and aiding you up and down on his throbbing length. “Such pretty eyes. You look so good staring up at me with your mouth stuffed full, baby.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, use of dragon knotted dildo toy, use of vibrator, multiple reader orgasms, blow job, dirty talk, slight power play/humiliation, clit sucking, overstimulation, pussy stretching, reader rides the toy then Wonwoo uses the toy to make her cum again, talking reader through it, mutual masturbation, Wonwoo strokes himself off to the reader using her toys, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby. (Wonwoo’s) puppy

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, gamer!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is on the shorter side, it’s pwp, but I’ve been reading shorter things lately, and I’ve been insanely busy, so I figured a short and sweet fic couldn’t hurt after last month's near 20k meanie fic :)

You wake up to an empty bed, your hand stretching uselessly toward your boyfriend’s side of the mattress, to no avail. With a slight groan and a huff of sleepy annoyance, you wrap yourself tighter in your white duvet, searching for the energy to sit up.

A clicking sound has your brows furrowing, and you wrap your body tight in the blanket as you open your eyes to look around.

Wonwoo’s sitting at his gaming station in the corner of the room, large earphones snug around his head. For a guy who’s a bit of a night owl, you’re shocked he’s awake and playing video games right now, but as you stare at the screen, you realize what’s going on.

With the new Fallout TV show, Wonwoo’s been wanting to do another playthrough of Fallout 4. He’s been talking about it on Twitch streams for the better part of a week. Leave it to your boyfriend to get the energy to restart a video game at nine am on a Saturday morning.

As much as you love Wonwoo and what he does for work - being a streamer is his dream afterall - you kind of wish he was still in bed with you. He’d been up late gaming last night, and was too tired afterward to take care of your growing needs. You’re at the part of your cycle where you’ve been very horny lately, and you’d been crossing your fingers for morning sex, but by the way Wonwoo is locked in on his screen, you can guess that might not be in the cards.

You watch him a few moments longer, realizing that he’s not actively streaming. It looks like he’s just doing general character creation, but with a boyfriend as meticulous as Wonwoo, you know that could take a while.

Quietly slipping from bed, you wrap yourself in a kimono style robe that Wonwoo had got for you on a recent trip to Japan. You head to the bathroom, intent on completing your morning skin care routine, taking your time and brushing your teeth. 

When you head back to your shared room with Wonwoo fifteen minutes later, your boyfriend looks like he hasn’t even moved a muscle aside from his twitching thumbs on the controller.

Approaching Wonwoo, you lean over the back of his chair, loosely guiding your fingers across his shoulders and down to his bare chest. 

Wonwoo immediately takes his headphones off, turning to press a kiss to your cheek while you linger behind him.

“Good morning,” you breathe.

“Morning, baby,” he says, voice deep and crackly with exhaustion.

“Watcha doing?”

“Just making my Fallout character,” he responds smoothly, turning to look back at the screen. “I’m glad you’re awake actually.”

“Yeah?” you grin. “And why is that?”

“I’m almost done, and when I move onto my wife character, I want to model her after you. As good as my memory is, it’s probably better to have you here with me when I do it.”

God, he’s such a nerd.

You love him, your whole heart warming in your chest at the notion of him creating a wife character based off of you.

“Are you sure you want to put the time into that?” you ask. “We both know what happens to the wife within the first fifteen minutes of the game.”

Wonwoo only shrugs. “I woke up to your pretty face and I guess I was inspired.”

“Hey, puppy?” The pet name immediately draws his attention, and he turns to look at you, a smirk growing on his lips.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you take a break for a bit?”

Wonwoo’s eyes scan you up and down, and then he sets his controller to the side, reaching for you instead. You allow him to lace his fingers with yours, drawing you in front of him. He positions you between his spread thighs, using his free digits to tug on the belt of your kimono robe. You don’t even need to verbalize what you need, Wonwoo knows you too well, and within seconds, your robe is opening to expose your naked body.

“I guess I didn’t really have the energy to take care of you last night,” Wonwoo admits, leaning forward to press his lips to the spot above your navel.

You let go of his hand in favour of threading your fingers through his curls, his hair teasing your sensitive skin as he presses kisses up toward your rib cage. He cups the back of your thighs, tugging you closer.

Wonwoo reaches your breasts, his tongue darting out to lick at the underside of your boob, eyes gazing up at you.

“How about a compromise?” he suggests, breath hot on your sensitive skin.

“A compromise?” Your words come out shaky as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently.

He hums against the sensitive bud, one hand lifting to massage your ass. Then, he pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with a grin. “I just wanna finish your character first.”

You let out a deep sigh, shaking your head at Wonwoo. You step away from him, but he grabs at your hand. “Kiss,” he instructs, and you begrudgingly lean down to press a chaste peck to his lips. His fingers thread through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep your mouth on his for a few moments longer, then he releases you. 

“Should only take five or ten minutes,” he tells you. “And I need you here to model.” 

“One second,” you groan, heading to your closet.

If he doesn’t want to fuck you right away, if he wants to prioritize his video game, that’s just fine. You can start without him.

You find a good sized toy, one of the dragon style ones that Wonwoo had been obsessed with a few months ago. He loves watching the coulourful, ribbed cock with a wide ‘knot’ base work you open for him, and fuck it, today feels like a good day for you to enjoy it too.

You also grab a trusty black vibrator and a bottle of lube for good measure before going back to your boyfriend.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything as you sink to the ground, he simply pushes his chair back, giving you some space to settle under the table his computer is on. You can feel his gaze on you when you open the bottle of lube, squirting some onto the toy before suctioning it to the floor.

“Five or ten minutes, right?” you ask, easing over the head of the toy and facing your boyfriend.

“Uh huh,” he mumbles, looking down to watch the way you sink the head of the toy into your pussy. “Think you can get all the way down to the knot with that time frame?”

“Probably,” you groan, closing your eyes to enjoy the way the tip feels inside of you. “But… puppy, you haven’t fucked me in so long, I’m pretty tight.”

“You’ll work yourself open,” Wonwoo assures you, his attention turning back to his screen, although you can see his cock beginning to strain against the grey fabric of his sweatpants.

The tip of the toy is tapered compared to the base, with all sorts of ridges that stimulate your inner walls as you test yourself up and down. The lube makes it easy to slide an inch or two inside your aching core, and as much as you’d like to try to sink down fully, you want to go slowly with this, seeing as you have five to ten minutes.

You grab your vibrator, turning it up to a medium setting and placing it on your clit. 

Your head is bowed, thighs already quivering as the sensation of the vibrator surges through you. A moan slips past your lips, your pace quickening on the toy, another inch sinking into you with your motions.

“That’s my good baby,” Wonwoo coos, reaching down to cup your cheek.

When you look up at him, you find his gaze still fixed to his computer screen, and it makes you angry.

You bite your lower lip, bouncing faster, harder- pressing the vibrator firmly to your clit in hopes that the pleasurable sensations will distract you from your growing annoyance.

“Wonwoo-” you groan.

“Puppy,” he corrects you.

“Please-”

“Please what?” your boyfriend counters.

“Fuck me?”

Wonwoo looks down at you finally, that shit eating smirk returning to his lips. “One cock inside of you isn’t enough right now, baby?”

“No, want your cock,” you insist.

“Okay, just remember, you asked for it, and I told you five or ten minutes.” Wonwoo sighs, lifting his hips and pulling his pants down, his hard length slapping up against his lower abdomen.

You’d meant you wanted his cock in your pussy, but you suppose you hadn’t specified what you wanted him to fuck-

Sucking Wonwoo off while he creates a video game character hadn’t been on todays bingo card, but you know how your boyfriend gets when he’s gaming, and you fear this might be the only way to have a piece of him while he’s focused.

Licking your lips, you pull him closer, the wheels of his chair dragging against the ground. With the hand not on the vibrator, you grab the base of his cock, adjusting so you can wrap your mouth around the tip.

Wonwoo releases a pleased groan, and you can feel your pussy clench around the toy.

Your eyes close, your focus going to the sensations ringing through your body. You take more of the dragon cock, slowly moving up and down on it in tandem with your mouth on Wonwoo. The vibrations on your clit are still making your legs shake, and as you get lost in the feeling of blowing your lover, you think you might cum pretty quick this way.

“That’s it, baby,” Wonwoo coos. “My good girl, being so patient.”

Fuck him for praising your patience. He knows lines like that make you eager to please him in this way, eager for more whispered words of affirmation even while he’s neglecting your aching pussy, fully content with you using a toy while he prioritizes his game-

“Look up at me for a moment, gorgeous,” he commands, and you do as you’re told. He meets your gaze, his skin flushed from your mouth suctioning on his cock. “Just need to get your eyes right for your character,” he explains, threading his fingers through your hair and aiding you up and down on his throbbing length. “Such pretty eyes. You look so good staring up at me with your mouth stuffed full, baby.”

Fuck. Your toes curl at his words.

If his skin wasn’t betraying the effect you’re having on him, you’d never be able to tell by the steady baritone of his morning voice. He’s not shuddering, not breathing deeply- it makes you want to suck on him even harder. You want to earn Wonwoo’s sounds of pleasure- sounds that can be so rare from a man who uses his voice for a living.

“Hows that cock feel inside of you?” he asks, gaze shifting up to his screen again. “Getting you nice and stretched for me, huh?”

You groan around his length, sucking roughly on his sensitive tip.

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath, and your body tingles with your success of earning a strangled sound from him.

“I’m almost done,” he assures you. “But I want to watch you take the knot first, be a good girl and sink down on the toy for me.”

You pull off of his cock with a popping sound, wiping a hand across your saliva wet lips. “What does it matter to you? You can’t even see me taking this.”

“True, but I know the sounds you make when you stuff yourself full with that toy. Wanna hear your pretty sounds baby.”

How is he so good at dirty talk while still staring at his computer screen?

“Nerd,” you whisper under your breath.

“Hmm?” He looks down at you with a grin, and you know he heard what you said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re gonna get it in two minutes,” he warns.

“Lucky me,” you say sarcastically, riding the toy faster, pushing yourself closer and closer to the wide base.

Wonwoo’s left hand finds his cock, and he begins to stroke himself while you focus on your own pleasure, rubbing the vibrator back and forth along your aching clit.

A whimper escapes you when you sink all the way down to the knot of the toy, hovering over the widest section.

“That’s the sound,” Wonwoo muses. “Come on, sink down on it.”

“I’m too tight,” you tell him, moving up and down, unable to go any further onto the knotted base.

“When you take it, I’ll take you,” Wonwoo promises, stroking his cock faster.

Looking up at him, you find your boyfriend staring at you now. He’s set the controller aside, and you have his full attention.

“Can’t you just fuck me right now?” you plead, motions stopping.

“I’m just a gamer nerd, remember, baby? Isn’t it my job to watch an angel like you make herself cum on some stupid toy before I get a taste?”

Fuck. 

He makes it sound like he’s the victim here, although clearly you’re the one aching for him.

“Puppy,” you groan, looking down and focusing on taking the knot. “I’m not wet enough-”

“Then cum. Use your vibe and make yourself cum, should make it easier.”

“But I want you,” you whine.

He laughs. “Brat.”

“Nerd,” you fire back. 

Wonwoo’s grin only widens. “Be a good girl, make yourself cum, take the dragon knot-”

“Anything else?” you huff, rubbing the vibrator hard on your clit.

“Yeah, one more thing.” Wonwoo sits back smugly in his chair, spreading his thighs even wider. “Suck my balls.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Sucking his dick is one thing, but sucking his balls? Generally with past boyfriends, you’ve stuck to their cocks- but Wonwoo has a very specific way of challenging you to do things like this. 

He knows you can’t refuse. He carries all the cards. If you want his dick inside of you, you’re going to have to do this for him. It’s not like you hate sucking balls, it’s not like you’ve ever voiced it to him that this is a boundary for you, it’s just… regularly, you’d rather… well, you’d rather not. 

But you suppose this is what you get for calling him a nerd. 

With a sigh, you lean forward, licking at the space just below the fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Don’t be shy,” he tells you. 

You decide to focus mainly on your own pleasure while you take one of his balls into your mouth. He’s doing this to degrade you, to get back at you for being impatient- but at the same time, from the contented groan that leaves his lips, you know Wonwoo’s sensitive in this area. 

His sounds do make things easier for you, and you close your eyes, rubbing your clit hard with the vibrator.

“That’s it,” he coos. “I love it when you’re a good girl for me.”

You whimper at his words, your core throbbing desperately.

“Better be fast and cum though, I’m not sure I can handle much of this, you’re just so good with your mouth.”

And now he’s threatening to not even fuck you? He’ll stroke himself to the finish line if you don’t cum first?

This man will be the death of you.

“Come on, baby, I know you want to cum,” he encourages you. “Be a good girl and just do it, cum from that vibrator and the dragon cock inside your tight fucking pussy.”

His words are the last straw and you pull off his balls to let out a deep groan. You bury your face against his thigh, pussy fluttering as your orgasm slams into you. Your walls contract around what you can take of the toy, and you feel a rush of wetness coat the silicon, helping you bob up and down even faster-

“That’s it,” Wonwoo breathes, rubbing his cock even faster. “Just a little more and I’ll fuck you.”

You whimper like a whore in heat, biting gently against Wonwoo’s thigh as you push yourself to sink further onto the toy, your inner walls screaming at you due to the stretch.

“Good girl,” your boyfriend praises you, petting you with a warm hand that makes your entire body ache.

You turn the vibrator off, nearly overstimulated. Tossing it to the side you focus on the dildo, feeling your pussy stretch to accommodate part of the knot.

“Almost there,” Wonwoo says, and by the way he’s stroking his cock, you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or himself.

“Wonwoo, please,” you beg. “I can’t-”

“You’re the one who wanted to be filled today, just take a little more and I’ll fill you,” he says, his motions faltering on his length. 

You grab at his thighs, squeezing and using him for leverage to rock up and down on the toy. Your eyes clench shut as you bob up and down, your wetness coating the silicon until-

You let out a gasp as you sink fully onto the toy, pausing while your thighs quiver. Another mini orgasm rushes through you at the feeling of being stretched this way, the knot stuck in your sensitive hole-

“That’s it,” Wonwoo says, moving into action immediately. He pushes away from you, standing up. Hands that are surprisingly gentle reach down and pull you to your feet, making you cry out from the way the toy is still lodged inside of you. “Fuck, you are tight,” he notes from the way the dragon cock didn’t immediately shoot out of you from the change in position. 

“Puppy-” you whimper, already delirious. 

Wonwoo helps you onto the bed, sinking to his knees at the foot of the mattress. He spreads your thighs, and you look down to see his pupils blow with lust while he stares at the large toy still embedded in your pussy.

He licks his lips. “Fuck, I always love it when you take this fucking knot.”

You whisper his name, moaning loudly when he grabs the base of the toy and gently thrusts it in and out of you. 

Then, he shifts, and his tongue finds your clit. “One more?” he practically pleads. “Then another when I’m inside of you?”

It’s been days since he’s made you cum, and it feels like today, he’s going to make up for that. You can bet that by tonight, you’ll have lost track of how many times you’ve orgasmed, and you honestly don’t mind.

“Please,” you whisper, reaching down to thread your fingers in his sleep tossled curls.

Wonwoo wraps his lips around your clit, gently rocking the toy inside of you. He doesn’t pull it all the way out, just shifts the knot along your sensitive walls, stretched to the limit and already throbbing.

“Fuck, that’s so good, puppy,” you groan, throwing your head back, eyes clenching shut. You begin to rock your hips, feeling impossibly full- his mouth suctions lewdly around your sensitive bud and your entire body quakes, thighs shaking on either side of his head. “Shit-”

Wonwoo grins against your pussy, an invitation for you to cum on the toy-

Fuck, you need him so badly, and your need spurs your body on, your muscles clenching as you teeter on the edge of an orgasm.

His teeth graze your clit and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, your legs attempting to close around Wonwoo while your pussy throbs desperately around the toy. The sounds escaping you now are practically inhumane, your entire body overtaken by white hot pleasure that courses through you like an electric wave.

Wonwoo pulls the toy from your core and you jolt from the loss, eyes opening to stare down at your boyfriend-

He releases your clit from your mouth, standing quickly. “Fuck, you look so good cumming on that stupid toy,” Wonwoo groans, grabbing the base of his cock and lining his tip up with your still aching pussy. “Gonna fill you now, like I promised.”

He sheaths himself inside of you and you let out a loud moan of releif. “Puppy,” you whimper, making grabby hands at him.

Wonwoo wastes no time, shifting his knees onto the bed, getting on top of you so he can press his lips to yours. Your tongues begin to clash immediately, and the kiss feels almost feverish as you tangle your fingers in his curls.

He’s such a good kisser, but you can hardly focus on his lips with the way his hips are already moving, thrusting so the tip of his cock hits your cervix with each motion-

“Fuck, fuck-” you whimper, feeling tears in your eyes from the overstimulation.

Wonwoo’s mouth finds your throat, his mouth narrowing in on your sweet spot, sucking roughly.

“Puppy-” you cry, tangling your legs tighter around his hips.

“I know, I’m close too,” he pants. “Watching you take that fucking knot just does something to me-”

Your core throbs at his words- you’d guessed he’d been close while jacking off, but hearing him say it this directly makes you even hornier. Your pussy is a sloppy mess, so wet that each thrust has it practically squelching.

 “Please, puppy, please-” you pant, nuzzling against his cheek and licking at his sensitive ear. “Want your cum, want it so bad.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo groans. “Rub your clit, need you squeezing me when I cum.” 

You shove a hand between your bodies, nearly crying from the sensitivity of your overworked bud- but you’re not about to give up now. You’re not a weakling, and if Wonwoo wants one more orgasm out of you, you’ll give him one.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, rubbing even harder, your core clenching tight around Wonwoo’s cock while he pants loudly in your ear.

“Need you to cum,” he grits out, fingers digging into your hips. “Come on, baby, cum for me.”

You shut your eyes tight, focusing on all the pleasure surging through you, and when Wonwoo bites gently into your throat, your high hits you straight on.

You gasp loudly, back arching off of the bed, pushing your tits toward Wonwoo’s chest. He releases his own sound of pleasure, and you can feel his cock throbbing while your walls clench around him, painting your insides as you both cum hard. 

You listen to his moans, loving the way he grabs you tightly as he cums, his thrusts faltering, motions shallow, as if he wants to be as deep as possible when he fills you up.

Your lips find his throat, pressing kisses there that make him shiver as you ride out your orgasms, and soon, your muscles are relaxing, the tightness making way for a slacked, exhausted feeling that overwhelms you.

Wonwoo stills on top of you, panting loudly by your ear.

“I think…” he swallows thickly. “I think we should go back to sleep now.”

You laugh, petting his curls. “What about your precious video game?”

“Fuck the video game,” he counters. “Right now, I’m going to clean you up, go back to sleep with you curled on my chest, then we can wake up in a few hours, do it again, get takeout-”

“You have the whole day planned out, don’t you, nerd?”

Wonwoo only laughs. “Don’t test me, baby.”

“Never.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! As much as I love longer fics, I'm such an avid reader of pwp for the anime's I watch, so I wanted to do something shorter and easier for those who like a bite sized fic instead of a full course meal :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “That’s it,” Wonwoo coos. He simply can’t help his dominant tendencies. How is it that you’re supposed to be the one in control, but it still feels like he’s got you wrapped around his finger... And his cock.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, handcuff bondage, reader tries to dom Wonwoo, edging, oral, blow job, pussy eating, 69, choking, dirty talk, pet names, reader is slightly in control, Wonwoo breaks the handcuffs, slight crying/dacryphilia, power dynamic, power switch, teasing, creampie, slight fallout roleplay, masturbation, deep throating, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby (his) puppy, sir 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

“Hey, puppy?” you call, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, watching your boyfriend close up his stream for the night.

“Yes, baby?”

The nerd doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing, but you suppose that’s no new behaviour. With a huff, you disconnect from the door frame, sauntering over to Wonwoo, your skin tight outfit squeezing you with each step.

Leaning over his back, you allow your hands to dance across his chest, Wonwoo looks down, and that’s when you get his attention.

His body goes rigid, and he slowly turns to look at you, taking in the full body Fallout Vault dweller costume you’re wearing.

“Baby…” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, “what are you doing?”

“Playing into your addiction,” you say smoothly. “What, you don’t like it?”

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[twistedsistas-stuff]

School Daze Pt2

Sammie Moore x Reader

Modern 90s/2000s College AU

Warnings…. : We ramp up . A lot be ready

—————————————

It hit the second y’all stepped back onto the floor.
That first beat—Cassie’s voice, slick and teasing—melting into the smoke and lights.

“I love it when they try to get scandalous…”

You heard the bass before you felt it, but when you did?


It thumped right in your chest, thudded behind your ribs, slowed your breath.

Sammie moved behind you, slow as syrup, heat rolling off him in waves.


Didn’t say a word—just slid one arm around your waist, the other guiding your hand to the rhythm.

Your back met his chest.
Solid. Warm. There.

And then y’all moved.
Not fast. Not for show.


Just that slow rock—hips synced, tension thick between you like honey caught between fingers.

You could feel every inch of him.
His hands. His breath at your neck.
His belt at your lower back.


That damn cup burnin’ through your bloodstream like kerosene.

The music dipped, and so did you—just a lil. Just enough to let him feel it.

If you felt that… he did too.

You exhaled, low. Couldn’t even look at him now. Too much.


The air felt tighter. Sweat curling behind your knee. His hand moved lower—resting on your hip now, like he owned the beat between you.

And when you pressed back just a hair more, when you let your shoulder touch his jaw, when you dipped like the music asked for it?

He groaned.
Not loud. Just enough. Just for you.

HIS POV

Man, she moved like a sin he wanted to commit twice.
Once for the thrill.


Once for the memory.

From the second they stepped back in the room and that Cassie track dropped?
He knew he was in trouble.

But when she leaned into him—body soft, back warm, ass tucked just right against him like she meant to do it?

Yeah. Trouble don’t even cover it.

She didn’t dance like the other girls, all wild and bouncin’ for attention.


Nah. She was calm. Controlled. Like she knew what she had and how to use it.
That slow grind?


That little dip?


That breath she let out when she felt him?

Yeah. He felt her too. All of her.

And Lord, was that cup not helpin’.


His head already buzzin’, body loose, lips still tinglin’ from that sip she took.


From the way she looked up at him like she ain’t know what she was doin’.
Like she did know—and just wanted to watch him squirm.

He slid his hand down to her hip, grip firmin’ when she backed it up again, just to test him.

She want me to break.
That’s what it felt like. A dare. A whole invitation.

His eyes dropped—watchin’ the curve of her waist, how her skirt rode up the back of her thighs with each roll.


Lord… if we wasn’t in public…

He bit his lip. Didn’t even know what the DJ was playin’ anymore.
Didn’t care.

Only sound he could hear was her breath hitchin’, and the voice in his own head sayin’,
Go 'head and get lost in her. Just once.

She reached back—just grazin’ his thigh, like she wasn’t even thinkin’—and he swore to God he almost lost it.

Y’all still on the floor, stuck in it.


By now, that beat had bled into your bloodstream. The bass wasn’t just music—it was movement, it was mood, it was him.
That body behind yours? Still pressed close. Still guiding you like the two of y’all was made to move in time.


He smelled like cologne, weed, and warm skin. Like trouble and comfort and heat all at once.

His hand had found your waist for good now, thumb rubbin’ slow over your side, like he was memorizing you through his palm.
You shifted against him once and felt it—the proof that you weren’t the only one feelin’ that tension.


And still… he ain’t let go.

Your girls were posted up on the other side of the floor, catching it all.


Jada gave you that big-eyed “bitch…” look, sippin’ her drink like she was watchin’ TV.
Tay shook her head, smirking, mouthing “Y’all nasty.”


You just laughed, face hot, body hotter, caught in Sammie’s hold like it was home.

His voice dipped low at your ear. His hand going up your sides, nails catching lightly. His big hand met your chin turning your face to meet his heavy gaze.


“Why you keep lookin’ at them? Eyes on me, baby.”

You turned fully into him finally, arms slipping around his neck without even thinkin’.
“I’m tryin’,” you said. “You makin’ that real hard.”

He smirked, that slow grin that didn’t mean no good.


Or maybe it did. Maybe it meant all good.

Y’all danced close for two more songs. Real close. Like the world got small and the only thing in it was his breath, your skin, and that beat.

Then, somewhere in between another song. Another dark bassline, Sammie leaned in and said real low,


“You ready to go?”

You ain’t even hesitate. Just nodded.

His car was black on black.

Tall, wide-bodied, tinted windows deep as night. The kind of ride you could stretch out in.

Get lost in.

He opened the passenger door like he had manners. Like you wasn’t two songs away from grindin’ your soul out on that dance floor.

Inside, the car smelled like him.
Leather and mint gum. That cologne he wore when he knew he’d be close to somebody.

He started the engine, one hand on the wheel, the other still warm from your waist.
You were leaned back, breath steadyin’, tryin’ not to look over too much.


He looked too good when he drove—lips parted, chain glintin', hand flexin’ on the wheel like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

“You always drive like this?” you asked, voice soft.

He glanced at you, smile pullin’ up on one side shinin’ under the yellow street lights.


“Like what?”

“Like you own the city.”

He laughed. “Don’t gotta own it. Just gotta know how to move in it.”


Then his tone dropped a little. Slowed down.

“Same way I’m movin’ with you.”

You looked over, caught his eyes. Still red from the weed. Still heavy.
But locked on you now.

“I ain’t playin’ with you,” he said, voice low, serious. “I know I got a reputation. You probably heard a hundred things.”


He paused, turned the wheel slow as he made the turn toward his dorm.


“But I don’t move like that with just anybody. You feel me?”

You didn’t say nothin’ at first. Just watched him.


And when you nodded, it was slow, honest.

“I feel you.”

He nodded too, like that sealed something.


��Good,” he said, pulling up in front of his dorm, engine humming.


“’Cause I’m finna show you how serious I really am.”

And he meant it. You could feel it in how he looked at you—like he already saw the whole night stretchin’ out in front of him, and he wanted every second with you in it.

He got out first, circled the car, opened your door again like a promise.

Then y’all headed inside quiet feet, loud hearts, and something big waiting on the other side of that dorm door.

The hall was quiet when y’all stepped in—
that thick kind of quiet that came with 2 a.m. heat and half-lit dorm lights. His building had that older campus feel: creaky floors, doors that needed shouldering, silence broken only by the low hum of somebody’s playlist bleeding through concrete walls.

Sammie walked a little ahead, hand still locked with yours, like if he let go you might vanish.

You took in the way his shoulders moved under that hoodie, slow, purposeful, like he didn’t rush nothing—especially not this.

When he stopped at his door, he turned to you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“You good?” he asked, voice a little softer now, like it was just for you.

You nodded once.

He opened the door and stepped aside, letting you in first.

His room smelled like sandalwood and clean linen.


Dark walls, soft LED strip light glowing purple-blue behind the headboard.


Bed big—pushed against the corner, covers neat, pillows fluffed like he knew how to keep shit tight.


Shoes lined up near the closet. Desk stacked with books and old lyric notebooks.
And in the corner? A speaker low-key humming something smooth, bass barely there but felt in your ribs.

The vibe? Intentional.


Like he been waitin’ on a night like this.

He closed the door behind y’all slow, then locked it with a soft click that made your breath catch.


He didn’t rush. Just slid his hoodie off, dropped it over the chair, then turned to you with that same unreadable look.

“You alright?” he asked again, quieter this time.

You nodded. “Yeah… it’s just—”

“I know,” he said. Stepped closer, not touching, but there. “You don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t wanna do. I just wanted time with you. Just you.”

That made something loosen in your chest. The way he stood still, letting you choose the next step.

You took it.

He met you halfway.

He touched you slow. Careful. Like he was tryna memorize the way you breathed.
Both hands on your waist, then slid up your sides, thumbs stroking gently like he was grounding you there.

“I been thinkin’ bout this,” he murmured, forehead leaning down to yours. “Bout how you’d feel up close. How you’d taste when you finally let me in.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You rose up just enough to kiss him.

And he kissed you back like a man who meant it.

No rush, no show. Just warmth and pressure, lips soft but insistent, like he’d been waiting all semester to get it right.

One hand moved to the back of your neck, the other slid low, holding you still as his mouth moved over yours again, deeper this time. Tongue sliding slow, teeth catching just a little like he needed to claim it. Claim you.

You leaned into it. Into him.

Into the safety of his grip, the hunger in his touch, and the soft rasp of him whispering your name like it was a blessing he was scared to lose.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searching yours, voice husky now.

“You still good?”

You nodded, breath caught in your chest.

“Good,” he said, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then down to your neck. “’Cause I’m not gon’ rush this. I want all of it. All of you.”

He touched you like he had time—
but kissed you like he ain’t had none.

The first press of his lips was soft, sure… but it didn’t stay that way.


Nah, Sammie kissed you like a man who’d been starving.


Tongue sliding past yours slow, deliberate, tasting you deep like he meant to memorize the way you moaned into his mouth.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb strokin’ the corner of your mouth just to feel how wet he made you.

He tilted his head, deepened it—mouth opening wider, tongue rolling with yours, slow and filthy.


Breath mingled. Teeth clashed just a lil when he got greedy, biting your bottom lip like he couldn’t help it.

“Mm,” he groaned, pulling back half a breath to look at you—your lips glossy, your eyes heavy, pupils wide.


Then he leaned back in, messier this time.
Sucked your bottom lip like it owed him somethin’.


Then kissed you again—deeper, wetter. Letting his hand slide down your back, tugging you into him like he needed you flush against every inch of him.

Your fingers running over his waves now, scratchin just a little.

“Ain’t nothin’ soft about this,” he muttered against your mouth, breath ragged. “You don’t even know what you doin’ to me.”

And when he kissed you again?


It was open-mouthed, tongue deep, hands on your waist, your ass, your neck—
like he needed to feel all of you at once.
Like he’d lose his damn mind if he didn’t.

Sammie backed you toward the bed like he been plannin’ this moment since the first day y’all locked eyes across that lecture hall.


The kiss ain’t break—not even when his fingers found the hem of his shirt and peeled it over his head in one smooth motion.

God.

He stood there bare-chested, all golden brown skin and lean muscle, ink spillin’ down his arms like it’d been drawn just for you.


The streetlight glow from the blinds cut across his chest, highlightin’ every line, every shadow— and you swear your breath hitched.

He caught that.

Grinned low. Stepped in close.

“You starin’, baby,” he whispered, voice dark silk. “You got a problem?”

You just shook your head, eyes stuck to him like he was scripture and you been sinnin’.
He reached for the hem of your top, slow, giving you time to stop him—but you didn’t.
Didn’t even blink.

He slid it up and off, knuckles ghostin’ over your ribs, your arms, your softness.
Let out a breath when he saw you under it.

“Damn,” he said, almost reverent. “You don’t even know how fine you are, do you?”

You bit your lip, feelin’ all kinds of shy now—but he was already leanin’ in again, lips trailin’ soft down your neck.


Then he kissed it again.
Sucked.
Bit.

His tongue circled the spot before he marked it—deep, dark, deliberate.

“Let Elias see that shit,” Sammie murmured, his voice low and dirty against your throat. “Let him know who you with now.”

You whimpered. Didn’t even mean to.

He smirked, hands sliding down your back as his mouth traveled lower.


Kisses slow and wet across your chest, between your breasts.
Then he wrapped his lips around one nipple, tongue rollin’ lazy while he pinched the other between his fingers.

You gasped, back archin’.

“Mmm, yeah,” he hummed, switching sides. “That’s it. Just let me take my time.”

His mouth was hot, suckin’ slow, teeth grazin’ soft before he soothed with his tongue.
His hand slid down your side, grip firm but gentle—like he was learnin’ every inch of you with touch alone.

“You don’t even know…” he breathed, lips still on your skin. “You don’t know half the shit I’d do to you if you let me.”

Sammie’s lips trailed down your chest, across your ribs, and lower still—hot kisses laid like offerings down your stomach.


His tongue followed the dip of your navel, slick and slow, makin’ your breath hitch in your throat.

Then he reached the top of your skirt.
Paused.


Let his tongue slide just under the waistband.

And when you looked down—eyes dark, lips parted—he looked up.

Mouth curved.
Eyes low.


Bit down, just a little, right there at your hipbone. Watching you flinch, watching your thighs tense like they ain’t know whether to run or pull him in closer.

Then he came back up.
Real slow.


Body draggin’ against yours like he needed to feel every inch of you.

By the time he was standin’ tall again, chest to chest, he was starin’ down at you—dark and deep and real quiet.

Like he could see somethin’ in you you ain’t even know was there.

You couldn’t breathe.
Not right.


Not when he was that close, just watchin’ you fall apart slow from nothin’ but the space between y’all.

Then his hands were on your waist—
And he picked you up like you weighed nothin’.


Laid you out on his bed like a secret.

He stepped back only to drag his shirt off the floor. Tossed it.


Then turned back, knockin’ your knees apart with his hand like he had every right.

You gasped—sharp and soft at the same time.

His palms slid down your thighs, warm and wide, squeezin’ slow.
Tighter the lower he got.


'Til he reached the edge of your panties, thumbs draggin’ just underneath the lace, pullin’ it down slow like a tease.

He stopped.


Watched you squirm, watched your hips tilt up like your body was beggin’ before your mouth could.


A moan slipped out your lips, quiet but raw.

Then he pulled back.

And the sound that came next—
crack—his palm meeting the inside of your thigh.


Sharp and sudden.

You flinched, legs tryna snap closed, but his hands caught you.


Held you open.


Pressed you down.

He leaned in, voice low and firm right against your ear.

“Say what you want, baby.”

He kissed behind your ear, breath hot.

“Say it.”

You blinked up at him—chest rising, lips glossy, body humming from that sting still warming your thigh.

His hands were still there, firm on your skin, keeping you open. Keeping you honest.

He waited.

Didn’t rush you.
Didn’t say a word.


Just stood there over you—all dark eyes and quiet breath, like he knew what was coming and wanted to hear you say it anyway.

Your mouth parted slow. Voice soft.
Almost trembling.

“I need you…”

His eyes dipped lower, watching your mouth.

You swallowed.

“I need your hands on me.”
A breath. “Your mouth…”


Another. “I need you here. Now.”

That last word cracked somethin’.

He growled—low, deep, his whole body tightening as he leaned in.

“That’s all you had to say.”

Then his hands were back—stronger this time, sliding up your thighs like he was claimin’ ‘em.


He kissed right where he slapped, slow and deep, suckin’ soft enough to soothe but hard enough to leave a memory.

His breath dragged down the inside of your thigh, kiss after kiss, until he reached the spot where your panties still clung wet to your heat.

He looked up again.

“Let me show you what serious really feel like.”

And then he pulled those panties to the side. His breath dragged warm across your skin, lips hovering just barely above the place where you burned most.

He kissed the inside of your thigh again—slow, reverent—then looked up at you through heavy lashes.

"You ready?" he murmured, voice already thick, already gone.

You nodded, biting your lip—but it didn’t matter.


He was already there.

His tongue met you slow. Careful. Like he was tryna learn you first before he took his time and owned it.

Long, deliberate licks that melted into you. He groaned low when he tasted you, the sound vibrating straight through your center. His grip tightened on your thighs, pulling you deeper into his mouth like he couldn’t get close enough.

"Mm," he moaned against you, lips wet, voice shudderin’. "Taste too fuckin’ good, baby..."

You whined, back arching, but his hand was quick—flat on your lower belly, big and warm, pinning you down. His palm pressed firm, just above where his tongue was working, doubling the pressure. That ache? It intensified.

Your breath hitched.

"Yeah, I know," he said, low and gravelly, like he felt the shift in your body. "That’s it. You feel that?"

You nodded, eyes rolling back, fingers gripping the sheets.

"Say it," he said, licking slower now—torture-sweet, circling your clit like it was his to worship. "Let me hear you."

“I feel it,” you gasped, chest rising, hips trying to move—but that hand stayed heavy, commanding.

He growled again, deeper this time, like your pleasure was his high.

"Fuck," he whispered, "you moanin’ got my dick so hard. Keep talkin’, girl… keep talkin’ to me."

He slid one thick finger into you—slow and smooth—then another, filling you up while his mouth stayed locked on that pulsing spot. He curled his fingers just right, thumb never leavin’ your clit, and that pressure that stretch… it had you trembling.

You cried out his name, voice breaking, thighs shuddering around his head.

He just moaned louder.

"That’s right," he murmured, lips wet, fingers fucking deeper. "Knew you could take it. Knew you was gone be so damn good for me."

His other hand came up to hold your waist, holding you steady, guiding you through the storm he was building slow and steady. Your hips moved on instinct now—rolling into his mouth, chasing that heat.

"You like that, huh?" he teased, breath hot against you between strokes. "This what you wanted, baby? Hm?"

“Yes—yes, Sammie—don’t stop, please—”

He groaned hard. “Shiiit. You sound so good beggin’.”

He sucked harder now—lips sealing over you, tongue flicking fast while his fingers stroked deeper, faster, curling up like they was made to be there.

"Come for me," he whispered, voice thick and close. "Right here. In my mouth. Let me feel you lose it."

“Give it to me baby”

And Lord, when it hit—it hit like lightning. Your body bowed. Your hands flew to his head. And he held you through it—tongue never lettin’ up, fingers still steady, moanin’ right there with you like your release was feeding his soul.

You couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe.
All you could do was feel.

And Sammie?

He didn’t move.
Didn’t back off.

He just kissed his way up your trembling body, slow as hell, lickin’ and biting as he climbed.

When he reached your lips, he hovered. Smirking. Breath ragged.

"You still think I just be talkin’?"

Your eyes fluttered open, lips parted, breath stolen. You couldn’t even answer.

He grinned wider, kissin’ you soft—letting you taste yourself off his lips.

"Good. ‘Cause that was just the start, baby."

He crawled up slow, muscles flexin’ with every shift. You could feel the heat rollin’ off his body before he even touched you again.

Your breath hitched. You tried to keep your eyes on his—but they dropped. Like his pants, like his underwear. Couldn’t help it. He was thick, heavy, pretty as sin. Veins like tension, dark and full, resting bold between his thighs. Your mouth went dry just lookin’.

He watched your reaction like it fed him, like your eyes turned him on. They did. He never broke eye contact until now. Head tilting down a nasty string of spit leaving his lips.


One hand stroking slow, slick with his own spit, he leaned forward, close enough for his breath to brush your cheek.

“Still want it?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Or you just gon’ sit there lookin’ scared and sweet?”

You stared up at him, heart in your throat.

“I want it,” you whispered.

“Nah,” he murmured, mouth grazing your ear, “you said that soft like a secret. Say it like you mean it. Say it like you tryna earn it.”

Your thighs flexed under his grip. He pressed down, big hands sliding from your knees to your hips, thumbs hooking the hem of your underwear, not pulling—just holding.

Teasin’. Waitin’.

“I want you inside me,” you said, breath shaky. “Now.”

That did it.

His jaw locked. He let out a low, primal sound from deep in his chest. Then he moved.

One hand under your thigh, the other bracing beside your head, he lined himself up slow, dragging the weight of him right over your slick heat—teasing, nudging, not yet, not yet—just enough to make you cry out.

His eyes flicked up, half-lidded, heavy from weed and want.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s mine now.”

Then he pushed in—slow. Deep. Stretchin’ you open like he was meant to be there.

Your back arched off the sheets. A moan slipped from your lips, thick and trembling.

And he moaned too. That sound low, rough, like your pleasure was feeding him from the inside out. He pressed his forehead to yours, both of y’all breathing each other in.

“Just like that,” he whispered. “Let me feel it, baby… let me have it.”

He stayed right there—deep, slow, his hips pressing down til you felt every bit of him fill you up, stretchin’ you just right. The weight of him settled heavy over you, chest to chest, hips snug against yours. You could feel the pressure where your thighs stretched wide beneath him, feel the tremble in your legs where his body kept you open—just for him.

“Mm,” he hummed low, rockin’ his hips shallow once, twice. “You feel that?”

You couldn’t speak—only nod, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Nah, talk to me,” he said, voice dark honey in your ear. His forehead found yours, skin hot and damp, his nose brushin’ yours. “Tell me how you feel.”

You finally breathed out, soft and shaky. “Full... so full.”

He let that sit, then pushed in just a lil deeper—your back archin’, mouth open.

“Yeah,” he breathed, jaw tight as he watched your face twist up. “That’s it. That’s how you supposed to feel.”

His hips rolled slow again, but heavier now, drivin’ deeper, makin’ the mattress dip. Your brows pulled in tight like you was in pain, but the moan that left your throat told a different story—long, loud, from the bottom of your soul.

“Uh uh,” Sammie whispered, thumb slidin’ up to your cheek, still movin’ inside you. “Don’t close them eyes, baby. Look at me.”

You tried, God knows you tried, but the way he was stretchin’ you, hittin’ deep like he was tryna plant roots, it had your lashes flutterin’. Still—you looked. Right into his eyes, heavy and full of something wild.

“There she go,” he muttered, mouth fallin’ to your neck again, suckin’, lickin’ the same spot he’d marked earlier like he was claimin’ it all over again. “You mine, ain’t you? Look at me while I love you like it.”

Then he thrust deep—once—stayin’ there, buried to the base, and your whole body reacted. Jaw dropped, legs tremblin’, a high-pitched cry tumblin’ from your lips like you was confessin’ somethin’ holy.

He kissed your open mouth, his tongue slippin’ in slow, draggin’ against yours lazy and wet.

“You feel that?” he said again, voice all gravel and sex, hips grindin’ down while he stayed rooted deep inside you. “Ain’t nobody ever gone touch you like this. I mean that.”

His mouth found your collarbone, then your chest, speakin’ right against your skin in a whisper just for you. “I could stay here all night. Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Your fingers curled tight in the sheets, body tremblin’ under him, and your voice cracked when you gasped out, “Sammie—baby—I’m... I’m about to…”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, that glisten in your eyes, the rawness in your voice. His lips parted like he’d been waitin’ on that.

“Aww yeah,” he muttered, sittin’ up a little, his hands slidin’ under your thighs. “I got you, baby. Say that again.”

“I’m close,” you whimpered, voice small but real. “I’m about to come…”

He didn’t hesitate—lifted your legs and pushed them over his shoulders in one smooth motion, settlin’ deep between them, the new angle hittin’ so much deeper you cried out. Your hands flew to his arms, nails draggin’ down his skin as he filled every inch of you.

“F--k,” he hissed, jaw tight as his hips pressed forward, slow and deep, bottomin’ out again. “Right there? Yeah... I feel it. You grip me so good, baby. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The pressure inside you was unbearable now, too much and not enough, and your breath came out in stutters as your body arched into his.

“Right there—don’t stop—don’t stop—” you begged, over and over, eyes squeezed shut til he grabbed your chin.

“Look at me,” Sammie said, voice thick with it, deep and damn near reverent. “Come for me. Right here—while I’m deep in you. Let me see you do it.

Your eyes fluttered open and that was it—one hard thrust, all that pressure snapped and your whole body clenched tight around him, a cry rippin’ out your throat that didn’t even sound like you.

He didn’t stop—kept rollin’ his hips through it, eyes locked on yours, hands holdin’ your thighs tight like he needed to feel every shake and twitch.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice raw and hoarse. “That’s mine. You hear me?”

You couldn’t even speak—just nodded, tears pricking your lashes from how good it felt, how deep he was, how seen.

He leaned down slow, folding your legs with him, his body pressed full against yours again, and kissed the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your temple.

“You so good, baby. So damn good,” he whispered, still movin’ inside you, slower now, but no less deep. “I ain’t even close to done with you yet.”

Your body was still tremblin’ from everything he pulled outta you—like you ain't know where you stopped and he began. Breath shallow, legs limp, brain syrupy. But Sammie wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Turn over,” he whispered, voice dark and low, hand already slippin’ under your thigh, guiding you like you was something delicate. And you was, the way he had you.

You rolled over slow, body pliant, melted, barely holdin’ yourself up. He helped—pulled your hips back gentle, then firm, settlin’ you just where he wanted.

You let out the softest sound when his hand smoothed down your spine and settled on your ass, thumb pressin’ in before he rubbed slow circles. He watched the curve of you like art.

“You was talkin’ big earlier,” he murmured, voice teasing, thick with heat. “Where that mean girl at now?”

You whined—just breath and need—and he laughed low, hand comin’ down right where your thigh met the soft of your cheek. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and hot.

You gasped, hips twitchin’ back toward him. “I’m sorry…”

“Mmm?” he mocked, draggin’ his palm across the sting. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, sweet and airy, like your whole mouth was made of honey and heat.

He leaned in, his breath warm on your neck. “You sound so polite now,” he said, slidin’ back in slow—too slow, like he was tryna make you feel every stretch, every inch.

You gasped, tried to crawl forward, but his arm caught you, pulled you right back.

“Nah,” he growled in your ear. “Where you goin’, huh? Don’t run now.”

His arms caged around you, one hand on your face, thumb strokin’ your cheek, the other holdin’ you steady by the waist. His chest pressed to your back, his voice hummin’ against your skin.

“Gimme your mouth,” he said, and that tone? It broke somethin’ soft inside you.

You whined, head fallin’ back onto his shoulder. He turned you, guided your lips to his, and when you kissed him—messy, open, not even fully there—he moaned with you, deep in his chest.

“Yeah… that’s it, baby.”

He rolled his hips in slow circles, hittin’ every angle, every nerve that had you damn near sobbin’. Your eyes rolled, mouth fallin’ open. You couldn’t stop the tears this time—not from pain, but from pressure, from pleasure, from the way he was fillin’ you up and breakin’ you open at the same time.

“Oh God,” you cried out, voice small and wrecked.

He chuckled, mouth close to your ear. “You cryin’, baby?”

You nodded, snifflin’, tryin’ to catch your breath.

“Awww,” he cooed, tongue flickin’ out to catch one of the tears rollin’ down your cheek. “Why you cryin’, huh? I’m right here. You takin’ it so good, don’t even know how proud I am of you.”

His hips picked up, strokes deeper, harder, the bed creakin’, breath catchin’, moans minglin’.

Every time you thought he’d let you rest, he brought you right back—touchin’ more, sayin’ more, keepin’ your body singin’ and your mind half gone.

And through all of it—his voice, his body, his heat—he made sure you ain’t feel like just another girl. You felt like his.

Like the only one who could take it.

He was still in it, still moving like he ain’t ready to let go. Sweat beading down his spine, arms flexed around you like he needed you close to breathe right.

You could feel it—how close he was, how heavy each stroke got, how his breath hitched every time you clenched. But he didn’t pull out.

Nah. Instead, one hand slipped down, fingers finding that spot again, that swollen soft place already worked raw by him. He rubbed you slow at first—real slow, just like before—but then faster, tighter, matchin’ the rhythm of his hips.

You cried out, hips tryin’ to rise off the bed, body archin’ against the pressure, but he stayed with you, pushed you back down with one arm across your lower back.

“Uh uh,” he murmured, voice damn near reverent. “You got it, baby… You can take it. Go on and give it to me.”

You tried to hold on, but your body didn’t listen. The buildup came hot and sharp, a wave crestin’ over you. Then it broke—hard. You let go with a choked-out moan, your body jerkin’, tremblin’, a rush leavin’ you breathless and shakin’.

He groaned deep in his chest when he felt it, that wet heat floodin’ between y’all. His rhythm faltered, hips stutterin’, and then he buried himself deep with a strained sound, his whole body stillin’ as he let go too, chest pressed to your back, breath hot on your shoulder.

For a long second, neither of y’all moved. Just breathin’. Tryin’ to come back down.

Then Sammie finally shifted, pulling out slow, gentle even now. You whimpered at the loss, but he kissed your spine before disappearin’ for a moment.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was back, warm towel in hand, cleanin’ you up like you was something sacred. Like he owed it to you.

You watched him—watched the way his face went soft while he moved. No way he just did all that and now he was here, up, calm, movin’ like he ain’t just rearranged your whole soul. You was limp, starin’, infatuated.

He caught your gaze, smirked a little. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just blinked slow, still wrecked, still floatin’.

He climbed into the bed beside you, tugged you into him like muscle memory. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you melted into it, lettin’ him guide you back into warmth, into stillness.

He reached for the remote, thumb pressin’ without lookin’. The soft hum of My Wife and Kids came through the static. Familiar. Gentle. Background comfort.

You felt him nuzzle against your neck, his breath minty now, like he’d chewed a piece of gum while you wasn’t lookin’. He always did stuff like that—quiet gestures, things he never made a big deal of.

Then you felt him smile. Not that gold-toothed grin from earlier. This one was softer. Honest. A smile you could only call diamond—it sparkled without tryin’.

“I’m serious about you,” he said, low in your ear. “You serious about me?”

You turned, eyes still heavy. “I’m serious, Sam.”

He grinned, kissed your nose, and you yawned, wrigglin’ back so your spine curved into his chest. He adjusted the covers around y’all, his arm tucked under your head, the other around your stomach, pulling you tight like he couldn’t risk you slippin’ away in the night.

The room settled, the only sounds left were the soft laugh track on TV and his breath steady against your neck.

You both fell asleep like that—quiet, tangled, warm. Him wrapped around you like a promise you could trust. And you? You slept with a smile tucked against your cheek, knowin’ you was finally, fully wanted. Not just for the night. But for real.

—————————

Yall nasty😏

[acid-ixx]

mea culpa (again &. again mini chapter)

tw: allusions to self harm, depression and suicidal thoughts. sensitive content ahead. this happens in between the end of chapter 3 and start of chapter 4.

if you were to describe the first few years at the manor, the first word that comes to you would be...

well, regret.

at every attempt, at every woeful request, and the rejection that follows. their distant stares, as if looking elsewhere other than you, or the way some wouldn't even acknowledge your name, or presence; it would've devoured anyone else's hope, would've been an already telltale sign that they had no interest in the likes of you.

invitations to spend time with them, to hopefully gain insights about their interests— just for that sliver of desire that somehow, someday you wouldn't have to constantly be on your knees, asking pleases in the sweetest tone a six year old like you could muster to a butler who had more important duties to attend to other than a desperate child wanting to spend time with their family.

when you lose something dear, you begin to desire that very same treasure lost. your mother is no more, her kisses were no more, her lingering touches long since disappeared.

it's only after a few weeks did the grief register within you. only then did the desire to recreate all those soft moments with her manifested into the threshold of your mind; clawing, hungry appendages that disguise itself as innocent ambition ready to hurt you.

all you simply wanted was to meet your father, to see him outside of camera flashes, or in news channels and interviews that only capture one part of him. you wish to see the man idolized by hundreds of civilians for his charitable actions, admired by thousands; a man who you were lucky enough to have as a father.

the very same man who, after having to take you under his care after news about your appearance sparked traction in media— was never in the same room as you.

and if he was? he'd be gone as soon before you could quickly greet him with a hello.

you remember those days, though. the first time where you'd get to pass by your... dad.

a lonesome afternoon, with a storm transpiring outside, the thick gusts of air and heavy rain thumping against the expanse of windows. it was only a quarter to six, yet the scene outside portrayed a sky far darker the shade of blue, and looked almost as if it was midnight. only the dissonant patterns of beating rain guides you to wander around listlessly with nothing to do; bored and delirious after a day of simply being... alone.

but the erratic noises didn't stop you from ceasing in your steps upon the sight of the man, standing in a room and looking out. his silhouette casting against the chandelier's orange light.

it was enough to stumble over, and do a double take at the man in front of you, only a few feet away, before coming closer to his distracted form to further take in his features.

how tall he actually was, towering over your impish, malnutritioned body like a wall. slicked, black hair, some strands loose and freed. his was more intimidating in person. gruff voice you've never once heard on tv, demanding control and respect. thick arms that contrast your sinewy ones, with veins that protruding from jagged skin; all hidded with fancy business suits and a charismatic smile that beckons your eyes to look upon his face instead.

he was handsome in person, more regal than the street thugs you've seen out the windows of your apartment windows. and, for a second, you couldn't believe that this was your father, standing in a room looking as if he could be painted then and there; your fingers buzzing to catch your hands on your sketchbook to draw every detail of the man in question.

your father, your dad, your papa that you've always marveled upon. now standing right before you like a statue concocted by a renaissance artist.

though the most important aspect of your father is his piercing blue eyes. brighter than anything you've seen before, yet duller than the bleak colors of the manor's wallpaper; gazing endlessly outside with no acknowledgement of the way you shake, or how the thumping in your

after one year of begging alfred to see him in person, you get to see him now on such an unannounced day.

yet you're happy all throughout. because he's here now and that's all that matters to the mind of tiny you, gasping and exhilarated to near tears.

fingers shaking, eyes never ripping itself from the man who's stripped you away of all words you wished to say.

it's as if he fits within the gothic setting perfectly. hell, even annunciating its splendor; the sharp edges on his face that are perfectly shadowed by the lack of illuminated, yellowish light, his stiff posture surveying the room, and muscled form speaking volumes of how much he truly acts as a pillar of support for the city.

safe to say his beauty was ethereal.

seeing him up close was far ever a better spectacle. you weren't just enamored; you were in every bit frozen in your stance, burning the memories of your first union with him into every crevice of your mind. dumbfounded, breathless, and buzzing with ecstasy of being face to face with a man your mother must've loved.

after all, he wasn't just one of the kindest souls to bless all of gotham, he was more than that. he was, in most important of details, your father.

a father you haven't seen, nor met, in the first years of your life.

yet those same eyes squint at something, anything else, and never once looked down at you, who modestly tries to pull at his loose house wear to capture his attention after moments you were locked in place. too small, too stubborn and young to understand why his gaze never wandered below and kept to his thoughts instead.

"papa!" you call out to him in a high pitched voice with a wide smile, trying your best to overpower the sound of the raging storm outside. your actions prove fruitless, yet you still attempt to make him snap out of his trance, jumping and shivering in near childish excitement.

and this was all you needed: a single grunt in response was enough to make you all the more feel ecstatic. it washed away your prior somberness at the weather since you're unable to play in the garden, and was replaced with overpowering fulfillment to a single noise he produced.

it never once crossed your mind that the grunt you thought he reciprocated wasn't acknowledgement of your actions.

no, it was merely him seemingly too preoccupied at the thought of his dead son; mind lost, and with no direction to take other than the grief that's still instilled into the pools of his deep, blue eyes.

it never once occurred to you how he hasn't looked down at all, or heard the wispy intonations of your voice blending into the faint, whimsical tune of jazz music that does the least to ease the pain eating away at his chest every time he's given a moment alone to ponder ever-so deeper into his current world of worries.

a world where you don't exist, and you've never once come to realize that until it was too late.

whilst you were busy admiring every side of your father, the good and the bad, you were ignorant to the unforeseen implications of how he never reciprocated the love you've shown him that faithful day; forgotten and buried under lonely silent walls and echoing halls that could only echo a figment of your voice.

when he had left the room and you to find tim, you were left to your own devices once again. yet at that time, you simply bounced with joy and jumped to the nearest couch, allowing the delusions of an improving life shackle you to the deepest of regrets after.

and despite everything, the manor was colder still. and it is cruel and unforgiving to a child like you.

others would've given up, others wouldn't even try so hard after the first failed attempts.

but you? you just weren't them, and you continued trying, one after the other attempt all failing miserably; your first mistake, yet never the last.

it went on like that for 13 and a half years.

these occurrences where you thug at the fabric of the adults roaming around the hallways, only to be ignored or downright rejected. dick broke his promise about visiting your room a second time, but you still chose to bother him every time he comes to visit for anybody but you, tim was no better and preferred to keep his space all for himself; accustomed to the life of a being a single child and preferring it that way, alfred had butler duties, and secret identites he had to tend to every night, and your father was... just that.

thirteen.

an unlucky number in some cultures, a number that was too long when translated in the language of time.

a decade, and nearly a half spent trying and failing. even then, everything you do amounted to nothing. every sweet smile, every baked treats long discarded in the bin, every longing gaze, and effort to set about physical affections for people who were more like strangers to you than family.

strangers under the same roof, living and thriving whilst you wait for admission to be accepted into their comfortable circles and inside joke that raptures from their luminous eyes.

you remember every single moment you had when you were in close proximity with your siblings, and the moments they exactly leave and forget you were even besides them in the first place— quietly humming as if understood that you didn't wish to disturb their presence with yours, but happy enough that they could at least tolerate you.

even if that tolerance stems from the mere fact that you were akin to a ghost in their ever-so busy eyes.

even so, you still remember. young and forgiving, spite a foreign emotion on your tongue, not until you've met the youngest of your lot which would only be after a few years, when you were too late.

you remember the faint elation that courses off through your veins every time alfred promises to get you at least a sliver of meeting bruce again— but even that has barely any updates, you've long since given up the hope that you would see him beyond his busy days.

and you remember it very clearly when dick first introduced you to your room, the sheer brightness that emanates off of your idol, the curls of his hair that flow like ocean waves framing his chiseled face; and his smile, a grin that sports the brightest of teeth, which brings warmth that makes you forget why you were even taken in the first place, replaced with whimsy and giddiness that you get to meet your favorite person in the world, second to your mother.

the way his bright blue eyes contrast with bruce's, seemingly sunnier, more kinder in its approach that makes you drown deeper into the same gaze that forgets you a day after.

and those memories were stored in your heart, both good and bad, kept under lock and key to both haunt and tempt you throughout the entire months you had to deal with the loneliness clawing in your heart.

the pain was surreal every time you reminisce upon the windowsill, watching distantly in the garden that stretches far beyond thick fields of trees, flora and fauna; as tim spends his waking moments with his new group of friends who all praise the colorful array of bloom planted root-deep with love, and care and perseverance— all with soft, vibrant petals and sturdy stems that were a product of your hard-earned labor.

nobody truly acknowledged it was you who planted all those colorful arrays of flowers.

yet you remember everything, or at least recollections of when and how you came to realize just how truly invisible you are to the world.

the hope that flickers within once someone sets their eyes on you, family or friends. the heartbreak that settles within every fiber of pallid skin and sinewy bones every time those eyes leave your form after the slightest of seconds; you remember them all in record time and run to lock yourself in your room to write all these instances in an endless supply of diaries documenting just how miserable you truly are.

no matter if it pains you, and rips at the edges of thinly lined paper stained with black-inked pen writing down your harrowing rants; bleeding into the pages just like how your emotions run deeper than depression and ebbing anxiety.

dates were plastered as both a reminder and punishment for you to reflect upon— on all your wrongs, and ways on how to better yourself so someone, other than alfred, could finally acknowledge you for more than a few seconds.

you remember everything, you were sure of it, but not the first time you purposely drew blood from your skin, or when you contemplated ending it all.

maybe it was all stemming from pressure, or the constant subjection to emotional neglect paired with no support system helping you handle your instability to control your emotions.

or it came after you had first met damian, with your youngest brother threatening you with a damn sword that nicked your skin; making it his mission to torment you consistently your entire life. pushing you down the stairs, calling you and your mother names; a disgrace, mere baggage to the wayne's reputation— even if you glare at him with the slightest bit of bite does he retaliate with an even stronger approach. until you give up, until the fire in your eyes are washed away by the current of dizzying turmoil. until you couldn't even look at him eye-to-eye anymore, ignoring the wide stares he gives you and the way his hands reaches out to you after you run to a different room from his presence alone.

or it all probably fucking started when the lump in your throat had refused to go away, when the heavy boulder you call your heart weighs you down to watch in a corner as yet another member gets introduced into the family, when jealousy raptures and seers into your veins at just how easy...

how easy it is to actually integrate your presence into the wayne family, so why couldn't you?!

a week after you were integrated, it was tim who was welcomed warmly, who fits in so perfectly like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle whilst you were considered an exclusion, an extra who doesn't don a fucking cowl every night, who couldn't in your damn life break every bone and return in one piece, serving as a symbol inspiration for the media to set its eyes upon, and your smile most definitely doesn't brighten the entire room.

you're nothing compared to them.

to try so hard, to fail all the same— as your achievements, your successes and milestones all amount to nothing but heartbroken expectations and a pat of pity from your butler.

the hurt piles, and piles, and piles itself until the colossal infrastructure falls and obliterates around you in its torrid pits of flames and carnage, until glass shards erupt and pierce at your skin until it reaches bones— much like the blades you store and use to butcher skin until it turns into an unintelligible mess of bloodied lines flimsily slashed across the expanse of your body.

like an artwork, a canvas that pictures slaughter in the wake of tragedy. with blood that seeps and stains into the crevices of everything it touches, with you as both the painter and the muse of the chaos you chose to wreck upon yourself.

thick ropes, pill bottles, bottomless water, and sharp blades; they all became topics of interest within the pages of your flabbily designed sketchbook. there was a period of time where all you could do was subjecting each blank slate of ivory sheets with stabs of pencil lead and ruined brushes every time you handle things too roughly. you'd clench into whatever you're holding, and bite at your teeth until it draws blood that drips on grayscale sketches portraying you meeting brutal fates.

and it always ends in your ripping those sketches apart whilst curling in on yourself, pulling at unkempt hair and scratching at hollow, sunken cheeks.

with screams unheard, silent and voiceless through the halls of the manor you once considered a home— like a ghost with no words that come out its mouth, a robot with no voicebox, a doll whose mouth is stitched shut.

it was always silent every night, but the voice of doubt was always louder, and it beckons you to hang yourself, to end your life and to never look back at their wide grins as they spend yet another night together.

it convinces you to write a note for each and every member of the family, to bid them farewell and pass to the world; even if those letters would forego the same fate as you— neglected, stored at the dustiest corners of the room.

you're hurt, both inside and out, alone and deserted with only your thoughts; loud and unforgiving, terrible yet comforting. you feel hurt, at dick's broken promises and sideward glances, jealousy at jason's hold over bruce even after years of his death, spite at tim's brilliance and all the friends who come over at the manor, as if taunting you of his social privileges, and fear for damian to spring up against you, to kill you with his blades and serve your cold body upfront on top of the dinner table.

and you were hurting all the damn time. if not physically, then mentally and emotionally. you allowed the invisible shackles to scar you, trapping you with spikes constantly piercing through your organs. you let yourself be a victim to the past, subjecting yourself to punishment by remembering your mother, sprawled all across the floor in crimson carnage— as you're taken away from her by policemen scouring the area before you could even run to her limp body. it was enough to tempt you to draw sharp object on your skin, condemnation for a life that shouldn't be saved— you would've preferred if your mother lived, rather than you. she had so much more to do with her youthful life, you had nothing.

life was unbearable, you were always teethering on the edge of a cliff suspending in thin air; choosing to run for either hill, holding a string ready to break, for safety always required great risk. one you'd rather jump off of than expend anymore energy of your already weary life altogether—

until you had decided to change the course of your life. until, one day, through gradual thinking and contemplation, that they were the main source of your torment. that you needed to say goodbye, you need to live to honor your mother.

that was the only ideal part of your twisted world. all for your mother, who had sacrificed herself, her kind heart, all to keep you safe and contented.

when you had made the ultimate decision to move out of the manor, throwing away your past life and moving on with a different chapter, you thought your habits would've ceased. that you're cured, that nothing stands in the way of your developing independence and uprising confidence.

you are free, unchained to both the confines of your emotions and the neglect of your family.

happy, content, and living the best of your world despite the financial circumstances and... overdue bills. either way, you're satisfied and that counts. counts for the six-seven months you were away, meeting new friends, ignoring the prying eyes of a certain individual always watching you from afar, as you party and drink and come to only regret not staying sober the day after.

you were at your peak.

feeling the best of all worlds.

at least, not until dick's sudden messages flipped a switch, into a dormant part of your mind, adrenaline surging through your veins, your vision flooded with similar images of your past: of eerie hallways and lonely birthdays. those memories taunt you, and dick's gleaming pair of ocean eyes, that once bring comfort into your oblivious brain now traps you in his spiteful gaze.

and you really, genuinely thought you were no longer in need of anymore pain.

yet you were always wrong. of course you always are.

you're just you, remember?

now, in your current apartment, you stand hidden in the safety of your bathroom, staring at the mirror without thought, with only resignation; unprepared at your family's plans to take you back into their caging arms, but ready for the blade to once again reunite with the familiar lines long healed.

all to wash away your regret.

reblogs, and most especially comments and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: sometimes, the pain you bear is too much to handle alone. sometimes, it can manifest through physical means to overpower the anguish that hurts you from within. but that doesn't mean going through the notion is deserved; nobody should ever resort through hurting themselves. when writing this, i was projecting all my emotions into the mc. in truth, as much as i love goofy drabbles, or write for the pleasures of myself and others; that doesn't change any problems i have at all. chronic depression is a pain in the ass. releasing my emotions through writing helps me a lot. and i hope that whoever reads this little drabble know that this is a love letter both to me for how far i've come, and the readers who've supported me with comments and praises that helped me go through the day. i've nothing else to say, i feel indifferent to the draft.

[penny-anna]

ANYWAY here is my guide on how to watch missing Dr Who episodes:

WHERE TO FIND:

Animated reconstructions: TARDIS wiki has a list of episodes that have been animated here. They are all available on DVD and most are on iPlayer.

Audio reconstructions: these are the original soundtrack with linking narration. they should all be on Audible. often there's an audiobook of the novelisation and an audio reconstruction. You want to look out for the ones labelled 'original BBC television soundtrack'.

Audiovisual reconstructions: these are the audio soundtracks accompanied by any still images and surviving clips from the episode. essentially a lightly animated slideshow. There are a few official BBC ones available on DVD. Otherwise you can find these on Daily Motion or the Internet Archive. Look out for Loose Cannon's reconstructions as they are generally pretty good.

The Internet Archive also has at least some animated reconstructions and may have the audio reconstructions.

The soundtracks used for these are fanmade off air recordings of the original TV broadcasts and as such vary in quality.

BENEFITS OF EACH FORMAT:

Pros of animated reconstructions: easily the most accessible option both in terms of ease of acquisition and viewing experience. generally have superior audio quality.

Cons of animated reconstructions: animation quality is variable and a lot of people strongly dislike the visual style used. not every episode is available in animated format and there are not currently plans to animate everything. if there are any surviving clips you'll miss out onthem.

Pros of audio reconstructions: easy to acquire from Audible. if you like audio dramas and are willing to put up with rough sound quality you can just treat them as audio books.

Cons of audio reconstructions: can be difficult to follow due to the soundtrack not being designed to be experienced in this format - personally I often struggle to tell who's speaking. as above, if there are surviving excerpts you'll miss them.

Pros of audio visual reconstructions: you get all surviving clips and images. easier to follow than audio reconstructions.

Cons of audio visual reconstructions: audio quality mixed - I think a lot of the copies online are rips of VHS tapes made using off air audio recordings. some people find the slideshow format unwatchable.

HOW TO WATCH:

If you are intending to watch all of 60s Who in order: the first story with missing episodes is Marco Polo. This is a 7 part historical epic with no surviving footage. unless you are absolutely determined to watch in order, skip Marco Polo. if you decide you like reconstructions you can come back to it later.

The next stories with missing episodes are Reign of Terror and The Crusade which are both missing 2 episodes apiece. these are both good places to start with reconstructions as it's a lot easier to handle recons in small doses. you can use these to gage whether you want to persevere with the missing episodes and if so what format you find most accessible.

If you are watching out of order: as above I would recommend starting with some partial serials to see how you get on with reconstructions. The Underwater Menace and The Moonbase from s4 are some other serials that are missing 2 episodes apiece and both are a fun time.

If you want to jump into a fully missing serial I'd recommend Power of the Daleks which is Patrick Troughton's intro serial. Power of the Daleks and the missing episodes of Underwater Menace have all been animated so you have a variety of options to watch them.

& if you really want to test your abilities, look up The Daleks' Master Plan (1965-1966). 5 hours long 12 episodes 3 still in the BBC archive. godspeed.

[bunnycvnts]

new bf! rafe that is slowly, very very slowly, getting used to having a girlfriend that cares about him !!

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

rafe was having a particularly rough day with ward screaming at him to be a better man and running out of gas three blocks from tannyhill, so when you came over that night, his attitude was at an all-time high.

every little thing was ticking him off. from the way his collared shirt was sitting against his skin to the crickets chirping outside, and to the way the tv was far too loud considering how close you were sitting. he was overstimulated, annoyed, and really just needed a fucking break.

when you got up to get a glass of water and your heels clacked against the wood floor, he sort of lost it. “can you- seriously? take the fucking shoes off.”

you paused at the entrance of the living room, your eyebrows furrowing as you turned around slowly to look at your boyfriend. “what?” you weren’t upset; you were just thoroughly confused about his outburst. you’d been together for three months now and had seen your fair share of him being dramatic or moody, but it was rarely ever pointed towards you.

“the heels, they’re driving me fucking nuts, clicking and clacking through the house, and the tv?” he paused to gesture angrily at the screen, “why is it so fucking loud? you’re sitting like six feet away from it.”

your teeth sunk into your lower lip, quickly slipping off your heels and heading back towards rafe, your feet now padding lightly against the floor, almost silently. “is everything okay?” the remote sat in your hand as you spoke, muting the tv effectively. you eyed him cautiously, now noticing the way his hands were fidgeting and his knee wouldnt stop bouncing.

his face scrunched. “yes, everything’s okay; that shits just mad annoying, babe. it’s giving me a fuckin’ headache.” your hand reached out to rub his arm soothingly.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know. how about we go to your room? it’ll be quieter, and you can change out of your clothes from today. i can go home too if you’d prefer. it’s okay.” your words were chosen carefully, bordering on demanding, and you tried to refrain from any tone that sounded condescending. it was easy to spot that he was overstimulated, and you only wanted to help.

“ye-yeah, yeah. let’s go to my room. don’t leave; why would you leave? i told you everything’s fine.” he didn’t know why you were acting this way, and it made his stomach feel weird. you guided him by his hand up the stairs and to his bedroom, speaking quietly as you went.

“i just know you need a minute, baby. that’s all. know you need some peace and quiet. maybe a nap. will help you feel better, promise.” he paused on the stairs at your words, but your hand tugged at his, making him regain movement.

once you both reached his bedroom, you pulled out some gym shorts and a loose t shirt for him to change into, shoving them into his hands. “here, put these on!” you smiled up at him before moving to his bedside table, where he kept matches. lighting one, you held it to a candle you had bought him a few weeks ago. he had noted how great the scent was but felt it was too girly for him to buy a candle— and he wasn’t girly. so, you took it upon yourself to buy it, and the trimmed wick and melted down wax covering the sides didn’t go unnoticed.

rafe changed quickly and leaned against the wall to watch you. the way you moved so efficiently and effortlessly through his room made his heart beat a little faster. you didn’t have to ask where he kept leisure clothes or the matches. you didn’t think twice before pulling the blanket up from the made bed and fluffing the pillows for him. you didn’t even need him to tell you that he hated sleeping with the top sheet, as you knowingly kept it tucked into the mattress. just watching you made his headache lessen, and he didn’t fight when you pulled him off the wall and helped him get situated in his bed.

“do you want some water or medicine?” his head shook at your question, denying it. all he felt like he needed was you. no one had ever paid so much attention to him or knew what made him feel better or worse. no one had taken the time or given the effort to care so lovingly for him. so when you sat on the edge of the bed, your hand running through his hair gently, all he could do was open his arms to gesture you closer. the blonde shuffled even closer to you, resting his head on your stomach, so you could continue massaging his head and playing with his hair.

“nah, just my girl.”

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

ok this is my first writing post pls be nice

taglist: @sunkissedrafe

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "comfort person" ⎯୧ (cyj)

+*:🤎:*﹤smut, sub!yeonjun, cockwarming, no protection, potentially dubcon but i dont think so, subspace, piv sex, a light handjob, petnames: yeonnie/jjunie/sweetie / wc: 2.1k / masterlist ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ

✧･ﾟ: *

yeonjun’s having a hard week. you’ve been making sure he’s getting full nights of rest, but he still looks physically drained constantly. he just shrugs and shakes his head noncommittally when you ask him what’s wrong, so you stop asking and figure that he’ll tell you when he’s ready.

you still want to do whatever you can to help him, making him warm meals and washing his hair when he’s too tired to do it himself. tonight, you’ve decided to keep him warm and cozy on the couch, bundled up in blankets while you guys watch his comfort movies. you check on him every so often, glancing at him. sometimes he smiles, and very rarely he lets out a small chuckle, but it’s obvious he’s barely focused on the tv. the next time you look at him, his eyes are on the ground and he’s lost in thought.

“yeonjunie?” you call out, and his eyes flick over to you like he forgot you were in the room. he looks so tired, it breaks your heart, so you slide a little closer to him and rub his back gently. “would you like to do something else?” but you’re not really sure what you would do instead—you’ve fed him and ran him a warm bath already. 

yeonjun shakes his head and mumbles, “this is fine, i’m sorry.” 

you shake your head as well, running your fingers through his hair and smiling when he melts into the touch. “you have nothing to be sorry for. we can do whatever you’d like.”

“just wanna be close to you.” his voice is so soft and sweet, eyelids low and blinks slow, and his lips are fixed in a pout.

“okay, we can do that.” you snuggle up closer to him. his skin is soft and scented from the bath, and you place a kiss against his neck appreciatively. his breath hitches, so you do it again and again until he’s breathing quickly. you stop and look at him when his hand comes up to grab your arm gently.

“i’m sorry, yeonnie. did i go too far?”

he shakes his head again. “it’s not that. i wanna be with you, i just don’t know if i can…” he trails off. it seems like he has more to say, but he doesn’t open his mouth again, so you work with what he gave you. 

“d’you want me to touch you?” 

he shakes his head, buries his face in your neck, and wraps his arms around your torso. “no, wanna hold you.” you hum and think in silence while rubbing his back again.

“we can try cockwarming, if you’d like,” you suggest. it’s come up in conversation before, something you two could do if you want to be intimate but aren’t physically up for sex, but you’ve never actually done it before. “would you like that, sweetie?” yeonjun’s hair tickles your skin when he nods. you smile, happy to be able to offer him some help. 

per your request, he pulls his member through the fly of his loose boxers. the couch-side table has a drawer with emergency lube in it, so you pull that out while yeonjun is getting himself settled. you lay in front of him, and he hides his face in your neck again as you slowly stroke his dick, getting it nice and wet. he makes little sounds, and his hips twitch, but he doesn’t move other than that. 

you don’t wanna leave the warm blankets to take off your clothes, so you lift your t-shirt up and pull your panties to the side. it’s a little bit of a struggle, but eventually, yeonjun’s head pokes against your opening. you keep your leg draped over his hip, your knee pressing against the back cushion, and yeonjun lets out a small whimper as you guide him in.

“this okay?” you ask once your hips are flush against his, and he nods again. you settle into all of the feelings—the soft scent of yeonjun’s hair (he used your blueberry shampoo), the dim lighting from the movie still playing on the tv, the rise and fall of yeonjun’s chest against your body—and everything is so tender and safe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

the two of you stay like that for a while. the movie you had on has gone off, and another one auto-played. the volume’s low, lulling you into a dreamy state, and you almost fall asleep, but the sound of your own involuntary moan clears the fog from your mind. 

yeonjun’s arms are wrapped around your body in what you previously thought of as a warm embrace, but soon realize is him holding you in place as his hips jerk into your own. his thrusts are uncoordinated and shallow, but they pull another moan from you as you feel his cock sliding against your walls.

“jjunie,” you call out, but he doesn’t answer. his breath is quick and harsh when it hits your skin, and you realize he’s asleep. you run your hand through his hair again, and his head falls back weightlessly. his eyes are squeezed shut and his cheeks are puffy, proving your point. you mean to make a noise of endearment, but it comes out as a whimper as your walls flutter around him. you’re so wet you can hear it, and you figure you must’ve leaked a lot to accommodate the weight of yeonjun in your cunt. 

his lips are still fixed in a pout, and you’re overcome with the need to kiss them, but he’s still a bit too far down. you settle for running your thumb across them and debate whether to wake him up or not. part of you wants to let him sleep because you know how tired he is. another part of you feels bad for him, wants to fuck him (and be fucked) properly, so he can actually get some rest. 

yeonjun’s lips part from your touch, breaking the barrier that’s holding back his noises. his grip on your torso gets tighter, pulling you closer to him as small gasps and whines tumble from his mouth. his thrusts are harsher, shaking your body, but still shallow and awkward, and you can tell he’s getting frustrated by the way his eyebrows are furrowed. 

you decide enough is enough – the poor baby obviously needs your help. you reach your hand down to halt the movement of his hips. he’s flush against you, and still weakly trying to thrust, but you hold his hip in place and pepper kisses along his forehead. he seemingly gives up, hips settling for grinding against you. 

“yeonnie,” you call out, swallowing down another moan and shaking him delicately. he stirs. “wake up, sweetie.” eventually his eyelids lift and his pretty eyes peek out, and you smile warmly at him. “need help?”

he follows your eyes down to where your cores are connected, and even in the dim lighting you can see his face redden. his hips stop grinding into yours.

“shit, ‘m so sorry.” his voice is thick with sleep and hushed from embarrassment. you giggle.

“that’s alright,” you say. “you didn’t answer my question.”

“uh– i’m not sure,” he says, but his hips are twitching again. your walls squeeze around him, and his eyes shut tightly. “i’m not…can’t hold myself up.”

“that’s okay. i can do all the work for you, jjunie.” you hold his hips as you slide him out of you, and he lets out a breathy moan. 

“oh, my,” you breathe out, because there’s so much liquid. yeonjun’s cock is coated in the sticky, white fluid, a mix of your wetness and yeonjun’s precum.

“fuck,” yeonjun breathes out. you look at him, and he looks up at you, but his eyes fall back down to the vulgar sight. the sight of his dick twitching, leaking more precum out of the tip, springs you into action. you lift up from the couch to hover above yeonjun’s hips, giving him a few seconds to lay on his back. in the meantime, you slide your wet panties off. when he’s all settled, you straddle his hips and grind your wetness against his length.

“mmh~ y/n,” he moans breathily over the sticky, wet sounds, and his hands come to rest on your hips.

“does this feel good?” you ask around your own breathless noises. 

“y-yea, but i’m g-gonna cum.”

“don’t wanna cum, jjunie?” 

he shakes his head against the couch, roughing up his hair. “wanna feel you again, w-wanna be inside you.”

on a different day, you might’ve made him cum like this then fucked him, but he’s in such a tender headspace, and you don’t wanna push him too far. you stop the movements of your hips and instead lean down to press a gentle kiss on his lips. he’s kissing you back immediately, and his hold on your hips tightens as he grinds into you.

you pull away from the kiss and say with a smile, “thought you wanted to stop that.”

“feels good, ‘m so hard,” he says. you move a little lower, straddling his thighs instead, and take his member into your hand. you stroke it a few times, slowly. his hips try to thrust into the touch, but your weight is holding him down. he whines in discontent.

“y/n– please don’t t-tease me, i c-can’t take it.” 

you hum at that and kiss his cheeks in apology. you lift your hips and align his tip with your opening. you both groan when you bottom out, and yeonjun nearly sinks into the couch cushions.

yeonjun’s going to slip into subspace. you can tell from the way his eyes are already glazing over and his hands are laying uselessly by his sides. you lift them up to lay them by his head instead, and hold yourself up by pushing them into the cushion. his finger twitches, and you lean down to kiss it gently. 

“gonna move now, okay, sweetie?” 

he nods, staring at you in wonder. you give him another smile and slowly lift your hips, sliding until his head is hooked on your entrance. you whimper at the feeling, but it goes unheard under yeonjun’s breathy whine. you slide down again and build a pace.

“fuck, you’re so warm and s-soft and–” his words fall off as your pace quickens. he’s so pretty, body rocking up and down against the couch as you bounce on his cock, and his hips buck up to meet you halfway. his eyes stay on you even though it looks like he’s struggling to keep them open, and his hands repeatedly ball into fists just to unravel. “so good, it’s so g-good, not gonna last long.”

you’re angling him to hit your sweet spot dead-on, and you’re not gonna last long yourself watching yeonjun fall apart below you. he’s usually more composed to this, but he babbles the most when he’s in subspace, feeling so many emotions and needing to tell you, needing to let you know that–

“i’m gonna– cum, fuck, n/n, don’t stop, please, don’t–” only then do his eyes squeeze shut, mouth hanging open and hips meeting you halfway as you send him over the edge. he’s still fucking up into you, even as his noises raise in pitch and his hips jerk from overstimulation, until you’re reaching your own high, moaning out praises just for his sweet ears. 

it takes every ounce of strength left in your body to not collapse on top of him. his hips are still twitching, and he whines as you slide him out of your heat.

“are you with me, yeonnie? can you look at me?” you ask when his eyes don’t open. they flutter open prettily as soon as you ask, though. they’re still spacey, his mind still a bit far away, so you pepper kisses along his torso while he comes to. his fingers come down to tap on your thigh, grabbing your attention, and when you look up at him, he puckers his lips.

“aw, you want a kiss?” you ask joyfully, so endeared by him, and you give him another gentle one since he’s still fragile. “was that all okay?” you ask after pulling away, rubbing your thumb along his cheek. he nods. “think you’re gonna need another bath?” you ask, ‘cause his boxers are soaked, and his skin is glistening with sweat, and you figure you’re in a similar state. he nods again.

“okay, sweetie. let’s go get you cleaned up, then you can rest, okay?” you help him out of his shorts and lead him to the bathroom. 

in the warm, soapy water, you scrub him off and give him a listening ear as he finally tells you how shitty his week has been, and how you helped him through it even if he was too drained to give you a proper thank you. he gives you one now, and you guys rinse and dry off before snuggling in bed, exchanging more sweet kisses, and drifting into sleep.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : my very first yj work yay!!! this fanfiction being released from the dungeon after being in my google drive for weeks :

this story on ao3 :))